


My Fellow Omegas

by RumCove



Series: My Unorthodox Treatment [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Character Death, Domestic Violence, Drug Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Implied Unbalanced Relationship(s), M/M, Miscarriage, Omega Verse, Social Justice, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28222080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RumCove/pseuds/RumCove
Summary: A companion piece to my Scrubs Alpha/Beta/Omega work, 'My Unorthodox Treatment', exploring the back stories of the major omega characters in that story. Essentially a treatise on how dreadfully omegas are treated in this particular version of the A/B/O universe.
Series: My Unorthodox Treatment [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1989949
Comments: 41
Kudos: 12





	1. The Twins

**Author's Note:**

> Regular readers will notice I've switched out of first person POV and into third person; ironically, the style I usually write in but never have on AO3.
> 
> I'm not sure this fic will mean much to anyone who hasn't read My Unorthodox Treatment, so I suggest any new readers do that first.
> 
> The tags are not included lightly; this is essentially a collection of the worst experiences of the MUT omegas and so is really quite bleak. Bear in mind that the (surviving) characters are all in a better place by the end of MUT. Each chapter has a warning for the subjects in it, so please don't read anything that could cause you distress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No active warnings for this chapter.

My Fellow Omegas

**The Twins**

**By RumCove**

Disclaimer: These chapters relate to OCs that I wrote for my Scrubs fanfiction, My Unorthodox Treatment. All OCs belong to me, whilst any occasional Scrubs characters belong to Bill Lawrence and NBC/ABC/Doozer Productions etc.

“When We Grow Up” by Diana Ross:

_When we grow up, will I be pretty?  
Will you be big and strong?  
Will I wear dresses that show off my knees?  
Will you wear trousers twice as long?  
Well, I don't care if I'm pretty at all.  
And I don't care if you never get tall.  
I like what I look like, and you're nice small.  
We don't have to change at all._

_Hey!  
When we grow up, will I be a lady?  
Will you be an engineer?  
Will I have to wear things like perfume and gloves?  
I can still pull the whistle while you steer.  
Well, I don't care if I'm pretty at all.  
And I don't care if you never get tall.  
I like what I look like, and you're nice small.  
We don't have to change at all._

_When I grow up, I'm gonna be happy and do what I like to do,  
Like making noise and making faces and making friends like you.  
And when we grow up, do you think we'll see  
That I'm still like you and you're still like me?  
I might be pretty; you might grow tall.  
But we don't have to change at all._

_I don't want to change, see, 'cause I still want to be your friend, forever and ever and ever and ever and ever._

*Nineteen years before the beginning of “My Unorthodox Treatment”*

A small girl sat on a grassy clearing, her long hair floating in the gentle breeze. She was focused on the delicate tea set in front of her, painstakingly pouring water from a china teapot into a spindly cup as she had a tea party for a selection of stuffed animals. The most notable thing about all participants – both animate and inanimate – were how clean and well presented they were. The tea set was lovingly boxed and kept safe by the girl every time she took it out. It was ‘for best’. Her clothes were carefully pressed and kept clean, each crease sharp. Even the ribbon she had woven into her reddish hair was perfectly even.

A tall blond boy walked over and joined her, sitting at the edge of her make-shift celebration. The girl solemnly poured him a glass of water, which he took with equal gravitas and sipped.

“You need to be careful with this,” he told her. “It could break easily.”

The girl stared at him with big green eyes. “I _am_ careful, Mica. Always.”

“You’re not the problem though, are you? Don’t let her play with it.”

“She’ll feel left out.”

“She breaks everything, Amber.”

Amber pouted, then her face brightened at the sight of another boy, younger than Mica and shorter, with red hair. He was walking into the clearing, hitting the trees occasionally with a stick he was carrying.

“Alex!”

Mica pulled a face. “Don’t give them to him either. He’ll drop them. He broke Dad’s calculator the other day.”

Alex saw them and waved awkwardly, continuing to hit the trunks of the nearby trees with his stick. Despite being only seven he already seemed self-conscious, likely due to Mica’s constant berating.

“What are you doing?” Mica demanded.

Alex shrugged. “Playing.”

“Stop playing dumb games. It’s pathetic.”

“Stop being mean, Mica,” Amber chided.

All three jumped when a fourth figure came pelting out of the nearby bushes, roaring “Mica’s dumb!” before laughing hysterically and coming to a stop in front of the three other children. She looked like a negative of Amber, the same physical appearance but nearly completely opposite in presentation. Her long hair was hopelessly tangled, smudges of mud on her face and bare legs and completely missing Amber’s ‘lady-like’ attitude, an enormous grin on her face. Even though they were wearing the same clothes, her’s were ripped and rumpled. The ribbon Amber had tied into her hair that morning was up a nearby tree, with a hunk of her hair which she had yanked out when she became trapped. She was holding her hands clasped in front of her, apparently hiding something from view.

“It’s _not_ a pathetic game,” she added, addressing Mica after previously declaring him dumb. “Alex is a knight. He’s flushing out a dragon.”

“Oh, really?” Mica drawled sardonically. “And where is this dragon?”

“ _Here_.”

She opened her hands and beamed, showing them all a small Alligator lizard. Amber shrieked and ran over to her.

“Iolite, drop that!”

The scruffy girl gave Amber a confused look. “Why? He’s fine, I’m being careful with him. He’s nice.”

“It’s not _nice_ , it’s… _ew_. Throw it in the bushes, Io.”

Io glowered at Amber. “ _No_. Just because _you_ don’t like him doesn’t make him bad. I think your stupid teapot is ew, but I don’t tell you to throw it into the bushes and-“

Mica, looking furious, stalked over to them both. “Io, your stupid lizard might bite you-“

“No he won’t-“

“Or, worse, could bite Amber. Throw it away.”

“ _No, he’s my friend and-_ “

Io was cut off by Mica matter-of-factly slapping the hand holding the lizard, resulting in the small reptile being launched into the air and landing a few feet away on the grass. It scampered off into the bushes.

Io stared after it for a second, blinked and then – with all the grace and finesse of an upset five year old – burst into noisy tears. Amber immediately hugged her, resulting in her sobbing loudly into her shoulder and clinging onto her. Mica tried to prize her away from Amber, resulting in both girls more stubbornly hanging onto one another.

“Io, why are you so weird? Be more like Amber, she acts properly and you just-“

Iolite drowned his voice out by stamping her feet and screaming in impotent fury into her sister’s neck. Mica gave her a disgusted look.

“I mean, just _look_ at the state of you.”

Io briefly pulled away from Amber to look at her twin and then glance down at herself. In addition to her muddy, torn appearance, her face was bright red and her eyes watery from crying.

“We look the same.”

Mica scoffed and Alex, who had been silent up until this point, waved his stick at Mica. “Go away and stop upsetting her, Mica. There’s still a dragon, even though you scared away Io’s lizard.”

Mica narrowed his eyes at them and then turned on his heel, annoyed. He’d been having a nice time with Amber until the others wrecked it. They _always_ wrecked it.

Io was continuing to look between herself and Amber in confusion. Her angry, shocked tears had been replaced by something more insidious, a gnawing worry that she couldn’t comprehend. She looked into her sister’s eyes, lost.

“I don’t understand.”

Amber, who did understand, put her arm around Io and took her over to the tea set. “It doesn’t matter, he’s being silly. Come and play with me. Alex can keep us safe from dragons.”

Alex immediately looked pleased and began to patrol the outskirts of the glade, waving his stick around again. Io wasn’t so easily appeased and continued to frown at Amber. “I don’t understand, Amber.”

Amber shook her head, but Io continued: “I was having fun. You were having fun. In our own ways. Why is my way wrong?”

“It’s not.”

“But-“

Amber passed her a teacup and poured some water into it. Io immediately stopped talking, the effort of being careful over-riding all other brain functions.

Iolite accidentally dropped the teacup after about ten minutes. However, Amber had predicted this and given her the special one that she’d asked for when she’d been given the tea set by their mother. It looked the same as the others, but was made of plastic.

From a young age Iolite FitzAlan was told her behavior was wrong and told she should act more like Amber.

From a young age Amber FitzAlan was looking out for Iolite and trying to keep her safe from the consequences of her actions.

This was exacerbated when both presented as dominant omegas six years after the lizard/tea set incident, although neither were hugely surprised by their status when it happened. What neither realized – at least initially – was how much of an impact this would have on them.

How much of an impact it had on all omegas.

Here are some of their stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possibly should have included a tag for the abuse of Io's lizard friend.


	2. Paige's Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Trauma, violence, domestic abuse, miscarriage, emotional/psychological abuse, character death

My Fellow Omegas

**Paige’s Story**

**By RumCove**

Disclaimer: These chapters relate to OCs that I wrote for my Scrubs fanfiction, My Unorthodox Treatment. All OCs belong to me, whilst any occasional Scrubs characters belong to Bill Lawrence and NBC/ABC/Doozer Productions etc.

“Two Beds and a Coffee Machine” by Savage Garden:

_And she takes another step_   
_Slowly she opens the door_   
_Check that he is sleeping_   
_Pick up all the broken glass_   
_And furniture on the floor_   
_Been up half the night screaming_   
_Now it's time to get away_   
_Pack up the kids in the car_   
_Another bruise to try and hide_   
_Another alibi to write_   
_Another lonely highway_   
_In the black of night_

_Another ditch in the road_   
_You keep moving_   
_Another stop sign_   
_You keep moving on_   
_And the years go by so fast_   
_Wonder how I ever made it through_

_And there are children to think of_   
_Baby's asleep in the back seat_   
_Wonder how they'll ever make it_   
_Through this living nightmare_   
_But the mind is an amazing thing_   
_Full of candy dreams and new toys_   
_And another cheap hotel_   
_Two beds and a coffee machine_   
_But there are groceries to buy_   
_And she knows she'll have to go home_

_Another ditch in the road_   
_You keep moving_   
_Another stop sign_   
_You keep moving on_   
_And the years go by so fast_   
_Wonder how I ever made it through_

_Another bruise to try and hide_   
_You keep moving_   
_Another stop sign_   
_You keep moving on_   
_And the years go by so fast_   
_Silent fortress built to last_   
_Wonder how I ever made it_

*Ten years before the beginning of “My Unorthodox Treatment”*

_Paige, please answer. What’s going on?_

Paige Murphy looked at her cell phone and sighed. She had a nail appointment and was getting her colors done that morning, she didn’t have time to deal with her brother as well.

_Nothing’s wrong, Perry. How’s being a hot-shot doctor?_

Once upon a time, Paige wouldn’t have cared how her hair and nails looked, or the other messages on her cell, arranging baby showers for friends and gossiping about the scandals in the neighborhood. Once upon a time, but not now. This was her life now.

She was happy. _Obviously_. She had the perfect life. Her husband was rich and handsome and _so_ alpha. She had gotten away from her awful childhood home and was looked after. She was loved. Murph treasured her. He boasted she was the most beautiful omega that he had ever seen.

That was love. Wealth and stability and a proud alpha who thought she was beautiful.

 _Yeah. How I look and how I smell. Not how I_ am. _Murph hates that._

She shook her head. No. Not any more. She was better now. Paige 2.0. The ultimate omega and wife.

She glossed over in her head the first few years, how she had had to _learn_ what the ultimate omega and wife was to Murph. The terror. The fear. The recriminations when she put on weight, the compliments when she lost it.

She glanced down at herself, at her narrow waist, slender wrists, all wrapped up in designer clothes. Glossy, shiny mane of hair, eyes looking overlarge in her face, all of the bones of her clavicle and ribs on show when she took off those designer clothes. _Delicate_. That’s what Murph said.

If Perry saw her he’d say she was emaciated. Paige snorted softly. He just wanted her to stay being a kid. A fat little kid in pigtails. Like a balloon covered in dirt.

Paige had, of course, never been overweight in her life. But there were things she needed to tell herself and this – as well as the denial of the anorexia and the body dysmorphia – was necessary. Necessary for survival, for sanity, for keeping going.

Her cell bleeped. She sighed and reached over with the hand the nail technician wasn’t working on, flipping it open and reading his response.

_Sure, nothing’s going on. You call me three nights ago, screaming that you need help, then say everything’s fine, then you ignore me. What’s wrong? What is he doing? You can come stay with the ‘hot shot doctor’ (although Lord knows, I mainly just seem to bounce the elderly around from care home to hospital)._

She huffed her perfectly coiffed bangs out of her face and rolled her eyes. She hadn’t been _screaming_. She’d been panicked, sure, but not screaming.

_It’s fine, Perry. I overreacted to something, that’s all._

His reply was fast and she could just imagine his expression, his clenched jaw and look of consternation.

_Overreacted to what? To your husband being a prize jackass? How the hell can you overreact to that? You’re UNDERREACTING._

She switched hands and spent the time whilst her nails dried under the UV light to concoct something she could respond with. When she could pick up her cell again she found another message.

_Paige. Please. I’m worried._

A small, tired smile wavered on her lips. She considered responding by text and then sighed again. He deserved better than that. She paid up and walked out to her car, sitting in the driver seat but not switching on the ignition.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Paige?”

Her older brother sounded strained, a slight edge of fear to his voice.

“Perry.”

She heard him sigh with relief at the end of the line. “God. You sound so robotic sometimes in message, y’know. I was worried it was him with your cell.”

“That won’t happen.” _Not again._

“Yeah, sure.” He didn’t sound convinced. Paige couldn’t really blame him on that, he’d always been smart. Murph seemed to think he was some sort of jock or meathead, apparently never quite believing that Perry had been smart enough to get a medical degree.

 _Because he thinks anyone who’s that smart wouldn’t look like he does. Murph’s not as smart as him and he knows it_ some treacherous little thought pointed out. Paige ignored it.

“I’m fine,” she reassured him softly.

“Why did you call that night? What… what’s going on?”

She shook her head again, even though he couldn’t see. “Just… something happened. It got out of hand. That’s all.”

“Stop pushing me away, Paige. Please. You think I can’t see the signs? Goddamn it Paige, we both _lived_ through abuse, I can see the damn signs.”

She drummed her French polished nails on the steering wheel for a moment. “It’s not like home.”

“ _Nothing_ is like home. Maybe hell. Or purgatory. But just because you don’t have an alcoholic old bastard throwing bottles at your face or a weak, beaten down woman trying to tell you how to act doesn’t make it better somehow, y’know?”

“We’re trying for a baby. It causes… stress. You wouldn’t understand.”

There was a pause and Paige wondered for a moment if that was a low blow, since Perry had recently started seeing another dominant alpha so that negated any likelihood for children. He had told her she’d hate his new girlfriend, which Paige suspected was true. He’s mentioned that he hated her sometimes as well.

“You really think a kid will help with that car crash?”

“Yeah, because your relationship sure sounds healthy,” she retorted, annoyed.

“Hey, at least mine was of my choosing. You don’t need to _stay_ with him, Paige. That raddled old bastard can’t do anything if you go, the cirrhosis wouldn’t let him.”

“I’m happy,” she said stonily. He snorted.

“Yeah, sure. And you’re trying for a baby again? How many miscarriages was it last time? That’s hurting you, Paige. Not just physically.”

“We’ll take it slow and-“

“And maybe if you, I don’t know, ate a damn sandwich or something once in a while you’d have a better chance of not losing the kid due to-“

“Shut up,” she snapped back. “Everything’s fine. It’ll work this time.”

Then everything would be solved. It _had_ to be solved.

And it couldn’t go wrong again. That cramping pain, the wrenching loosening of her baby, the sheer, agonizing loss… she couldn’t go through that again, couldn’t cry as the life bled out of her whilst her husband looked at her in annoyance and disgust. Not again.

She could hear Perry breathing, could tell he was annoyed and trying not to let it out. His nostrils would be slightly flared, eyes narrowed. She could imagine him, standing in his scrubs in some hospital she’d never visited, angry and attempting badly to keep it under control. He didn’t change.

“I just… I worry about you.”

She glanced into the rear view mirror and flicked her carefully styled blonde hair away from her face. Didn’t meet her own eyes.

“You don’t need to, Perry. Honestly.”

“I feel like you’re not even you any more sometimes. You’re trying to act like you think you’re supposed to. I feel like… I feel like I’m losing you. Like I’ve _lost_ you.”

She flinched and intentionally kept looking away from the mirror. “I can’t just be a kid making mud pies all my life, no matter how much you wish that.”

“That isn’t what I mean, I mean everything that made you _you_ seems to be something you reject now and-“

“I grew up, Perry,” she snapped. “I matured, that’s all. I went through a rebellious streak as a kid, everyone does. Now I’m more me than I ever was.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I’ll speak to you later, I’ve got things to do.”

She hung up and accidentally looked up into the rear view mirror.

The real Paige was screaming out through glowing blue eyes, furiously demanding she do as Perry told her, run away, _get_ away.

Before it was too late.

Paige looked away and turned on the ignition.

*****

As she got her highlights redone she considered what her brother had been saying.

She hadn’t lied. It wasn’t like home. Not at all.

There was an odd honesty to her father’s abuse that Paige hadn’t understood at the time – and that her brother never would. He had been angry and he’d been simplistic in how he dealt with that. Violence. Shouting. All things that could be easily proved, easily _seen_. Everyone in the neighborhood had known what had been going on.

None of the bastards had done anything to help, but they’d _known_. Anyone reporting her father for his behavior would have had a host of witnesses to how he really was.

Murph… well, Murph wasn’t like that. He didn’t shout. He wasn’t really violent… not really. And on the occasions he was, he was careful not to damage anything that could be seen. Proving anything against him wouldn’t just be difficult, it would be basically impossible.

She was trapped. She knew she was trapped, her brother had offers about escaping but Murph would just come after her. He had a claim, he’d _bought_ her. She could briefly run away, make her brother feel better, but in the end she’d just end up back in the same place.

And Murph would make her pay for that. Oh yes. He really would.

She was distracted from her thoughts by the colorist gossiping with her about some celebrities. She repeated something she’d read a few days ago from a magazine. She did that, read things like that on rote so she could trot it out as required. It was her camouflage.

It bored the life out of her. The celebrities, the gossip about the other omegas in the neighborhood (“did you _see_ Fiona’s new ring, twice the price of the engagement ring and she’s got that alpha wrapped around her little _finger_ , she’ll be running that household in less than a year, you mark my words”), the fashion, the hairstyles and, God, the kids.

Planning baby showers for all of her friends as she repeatedly was unable to carry a child beyond the first trimester, the dreadful, wrenching pain of it all.

She briefly considered the time before she’d presented, when she’d thought she was beta and had planned to study geography and then chase natural hazards. Volcanoes, earthquakes, study them and understand them. Not kids. She’d never really been fond of kids, even when she was one.

But it seemed the one escape, the one thing she could really do now, focus on. Just because you don’t dream of something when you’re a child didn’t mean it didn’t become something you wanted later. And she _did_. Her brother didn’t seem to quite believe her – and yeah, she didn’t like other peoples’ kids, sure – but she did want her own. Wanted one quite desperately and not just because there was a nagging sense at the back of her head that it was the only way to guarantee her survival.

A baby. A child to focus her love on, her rejected and neglected love. Someone to treasure and be delighted by, in a way she’d never been treasured or delighted in.

Maybe… maybe even a friend.

She mechanically commented on one of the neighbors new hair (“doesn’t suit him at all, too red, he’s too pale for that, I thought male omegas were supposed to get that”) and tried to pick up her previous trail of thought.

Oh, right. Murph wasn’t like her father. Oh, no. Oh, no Siree.

It was these little comments. Prods to get her to behave well – hell, _rewards_ to get her to behave well. She wasn’t stupid, even when she’d first been sold to him and was basically still a kid. Rewards could be anything; a loving gesture, a compliment that initially had made her practically glow with pleasure, a mini break somewhere plush and beautiful. And the bad behavior… well, he made quick work of that. Disapproving comments, mainly, little snipes that only hurt because they were so targeted and so frequent. Initially he was quite lenient with her, but over time he’d molded her into what he wanted.

 _This_.

She stared into the mirror, again trying not to look into her glowing sapphire eyes. Arguably, she looked good. She looked fantastic, actually. Her hair and nails were done every fortnight. She visited a dermatologist every month and her extremely expensive gym membership meant when she did eat more than a few hundred calories they were burnt off quickly. She was beautiful, toned-

_You look like a damn doll. And this amount of upkeep is plain exhausting._

She narrowed her eyes slightly. There was nothing wrong with wanting to look good, to put effort into it. She could be accused of vanity, but… but that was jealousy. Right?

There was nothing _wrong_ with it.

_No, there’s not. Just it isn’t you._

She was tired. She was tired all the time.

*****

Paige parked outside Murph’s home and locked her car. She glanced up at the sprawling condo and grimaced.

It should be _their_ home in her head. But… it wasn’t. It was his home. She just lived there.

His car was parked outside. Some plush sports car, Paige didn’t pay too much attention to models. Murph was proud of this one – like he’d been proud of the last one and the one before.

He traded them in every year, got the newest model to show off.

_Like you. And you’re getting to the end of your show period, Paigey._

She frowned at the comparison. She wasn’t a _car_ , wasn’t a commodity. That wasn’t how he viewed her, even though… even though he’d bought her, he wasn’t that bad.

The house was empty. She hunted around for a while, then followed her nose out to the back of the house. Murph was sprawled on a sun lounger by the pool, wearing shorts and squinting into his laptop.

He minimized the window as she approached and glanced over at her, pushing his shades up into his hair.

He was a good fifteen years older than her, a successful businessman. He was good-looking though, despite the age difference. His physique was astounding, he worked hard on it, made sure his tailored suits were stretched over his chest in just the right way to make them seem to strain over his pecs and narrow down over his waist. His hair was lightly flecked with gray at the temples, but… well, it just added to his looks, really.

Alphas got better with age was the general insistence of society and Paige supposed in Murph’s case it was right.

Omegas didn’t. After a certain point they were viewed as worthless, losing their natural charm and vigor. Which was a nice way of saying they were losing their fertility, Paige supposed.

She did love him though. It wasn’t the most romantic of arrangements and in a way she was trapped, but deep down she did love him. Which made it worse, in a way.

She kissed his temple and he glanced up at her.

“What were you looking at?”

He shrugged. “Work things. Nothing interesting.”

“Do you want a drink, Murph?”

She had always called him Murph. She supposed she should call him Harvey, but Murph suited him more.

He smiled slightly and nodded. “Martini.”

She made them both one and perched on the opposite sun lounger to him. She rummaged around in her bag and produced the other item she’d gone out to get during the day, going to the pharmacy and quietly requesting it. Murph glanced at it.

“A quick snap?”

She looked at the little inhaler and nodded. “I thought we could… try again. If you want to?”

It would knock her into heat, make her ovulate and hopefully conceive again. Murph’s smile seemed to waver briefly and then cement itself back in place.

“Sure. But you need to make sure you look after-“

She was already nodding, desperate for his approval. “Of course. _Of course_.”

*****

Two weeks after, Paige was struck by a sudden, dreadful pain lancing through her lower stomach. The horror and loss were indescribable. Too much, too much pain, too much death, too much disappointment for one lifetime. So many hopes dashed, so many dreams smashed mercilessly on the hard, cold ground.

Her misery and bereavement were so intense that when her husband wrapped his large hands around her throat and squeezed she was almost relieved. She had, after all, seen the tabs he’d been closing on his browsers, knew he’d been considering a new model. Had even identified the upgrade.

She wasn’t tired any more.

*****

Paige and her brother’s final text conversation remained on his cell phone, a final indictment, a pillar to his guilt and anger at himself at his inaction to save her:

_It’s fine, Perry. I overreacted to something, that’s all._

_Paige. Please. I’m worried._

Even when he couldn’t bring himself to visit her grave any more, he read this with the zealotry of a martyr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally planned to write more about Paige's actual murder, but in the end I couldn't bring myself to. There's something so quietly hopeless about this one, it hurt a lot more than I expected to write.


	3. Carla's Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Abuse of authority, suicide, implied sexual abuse

My Fellow Omegas

**Carla’s Story**

**By RumCove**

Disclaimer: These chapters relate to OCs that I wrote for my Scrubs fanfiction, My Unorthodox Treatment. All OCs belong to me, whilst any occasional Scrubs characters belong to Bill Lawrence and NBC/ABC/Doozer Productions etc.

  
“Butterfly” by Weezer

  
_Yesterday, I went outside_   
_With my momma's mason jar_   
_Caught a lovely butterfly_   
_When I woke up today_   
_Looked in on my fairy pet_   
_She had withered all away_   
_No more sighing in her breast_

_I'm sorry for what I did_   
_I did what my body told me to_   
_I didn't mean to do you harm_   
_Every time I pin down what I think I want_   
_It slips away, the ghost slips away_

_Smell you on my hand for days_   
_I can't wash away your scent_   
_If I'm a dog, then you're a bitch_   
_I guess you're as real as me_   
_Maybe I can live with that_   
_Maybe I need fantasy_   
_Life of chasing butterfly_

_I'm sorry for what I did_   
_I did what my body told me to_   
_I didn't mean to do you harm_   
_Every time I pin down what I think I want_   
_It slips away, the ghost slips away_

_I told you I would return_   
_When the robin makes his nest_   
_But I ain't never coming back_

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_

*Eight years before the beginning of “My Unorthodox Treatment”*

“You see him?”

Carla Espinoza rolled her eyes emphatically to the newest doctor to join the hospital, grinning at the other two women. They glanced over at the tall alpha doctor.

“He’s the new surgical attending. Doctor Daniels. He’s _single_.”

“Mm-hmm,” Laverne Roberts looked utterly unimpressed. “And so he’ll be above the usual level of arrogant a senior surgeon will be at, since he’s a dominant alpha as well.”

“How do you know he’s dominant? You’re a beta.” Jennifer Kirkpatrick gazed at Laverne with large eyes, apparently utterly confused by this revelation.

“Child, you don’t need to smell them to know what they are. Particularly _that_ one.”

Jennifer was apparently accustomed to Laverne calling her a child; she was shorter and younger than the other two women and so possibly thought it was warranted. She inhaled briefly, wrinkling her nose. “Yeah, he’s dominant.”

“I _know_ he’s dominant.” Carla rolled her eyes again, this time heavenwards rather than towards what she thought of as a pretty attractive specimen of alphaness. “Don’t you think he’s hot?”

“Not as hot as Mr Roberts.”

“He’s… yeah, I guess,” Jennifer muttered, blushing.

“You really need to get over this shyness around alphas, Jennifer. They all think you’re terrified of them.”

“I am. Particularly _that_ one, he shouted at me yesterday for not being quick enough to assist him.”

They all glanced over at the alpha she was pointing out. Carla sighed. “Yeah, well… he isn’t exactly the best alpha to practice getting over your shyness with.”

“He calls me tiny dancer.”

“He probably doesn’t mean it all that-“

“I’m _not_ tiny. And I can’t dance. It’s stupid.”

She frowned at the offending alpha and then looked back at the other two nurses. “Why is he so mean?”

“Problems at home. I think his marriage is falling apart.” Carla said it quietly, a flicker of concern running over he face.

“No surprise _there_. Two alphas. It’s not natural.”

Both of the omegas nurses stared at Laverne in surprise. She shrugged. “What? God made man and woman and He made alpha and omega. You subvert that and it’s all gonna go to hell.”

“Laverne, knock it off,” Carla snapped sharply. “Don’t start going all fire and brimstone on us just because two people fell in love and it didn’t quite fit with what you think God wants.”

Laverne glowered at her, then glanced back over at Daniels. “Well, you going to go and introduce your fine self to him then?”

Carla grabbed Jennifer by the wrist and walked over. Jennifer immediately began dragging her heels. “I don’t want to meet him Carla, he’ll call me some new offensive nickname and-“

“Oh, come on. We’ve briefly been given permission to talk to him by Laverne, presumably because she didn’t think it could potentially result in premarital sex.”

“We need permission from Laverne?”

“Well, obviously we don’t. You’re so naïve Jenny. Just it’s so unusual we should take advantage so if she makes a comment later we can say she encouraged it and then she’ll have to shut up.”

Daniels looked over at them as they approached. Carla beamed, whilst Jennifer suddenly found her feet hugely interesting. Daniels smiled back, his eyes crinkling slightly, something Carla found particularly appealing. He was tall and broad – as Laverne had noted, you didn’t need to smell him to know he was a dominant alpha – with dark hair and eyes. He wasn’t quite classically handsome, but his face had a warmth to it that was undeniably attractive.

Carla introduced them both and welcomed Daniels to the hospital. He grinned back at her.

“I’m Ryan Daniels. Nice to meet you both. Although you’re both internal medicine, right? So I guess I won’t be seeing you too much in the OR?”

“No, but we look after them when you’ve finished cutting them up.” Carla smirked. She nudged Jennifer to try to get her to say something, which Daniels noticed.

“Is nurse Kirkpatrick shy?”

There was a scoff behind them. “ _Shy?_ Tiny Dancer is not just shy, Tall, Dark and Handsome, she’s terminally nervous. You’d get more conversation out of the damn vending machine.”

Daniels frowned and then gave Jennifer a reassuring smile. “I’m sure that’s not the case.”

“The vending machine would be more use in a medical emergency as well. It can, at least, dispense chocolate when PMS strikes.”

Daniels glared at him. “That’s uncalled for.”

Jennifer beamed back at him suddenly and he gave her an encouraging smile. “I’m sure you can demonstrate that by helping me prep for my next surgery, if you’ve got the time?”

She nodded and scurried off after him, grinning broadly at Carla. She returned to the nurses’ station, glaring briefly at the man still standing around, apparently annoyed that his insults had been dismissed so effectively.

“Why do you look so damn happy? Little Jenny just ran off with your man.”

“Oh, she did _not_. You know what she’s like, she’s been on about two dates in the three years we’ve known her, she’s incredibly shy. She’s already said to me she thinks she’ll ask her parents to set her up, she’s one of those crazy ‘save it until we’re bonded’ kinda girls.”

“The right kind of girl,” Laverne muttered under her breath, giving Carla a disapproving look. Carla ignored it.

“But it was nice of him to do that, to build her confidence up. That’s what she needs, it’s how to motivate her. Not to just be awful to her, unlike _some_ people.”

There was a grunt at that. Carla ignored that too.

In reality, she was genuinely pleased that Daniels had done that. Jennifer was five years younger than Carla and she felt a sense of responsibility for her, almost like an older sister. Although she was annoyed at the ‘terminally nervous’ description she couldn’t deny that Jennifer was painfully shy most of the time. Even with Carla and Laverne she’d be reticent, not wanting to interrupt their conversations with her thoughts and opinions. If something was bothering her she usually kept it to herself, requiring huge amount of effort for Carla to have to drag the truth out of her when she was unhappy.

It never really occurred to Carla that Jennifer didn’t want to tell her why she was unhappy.

Also, Carla had seen the spark of interest and attraction in Daniels’ eyes when he’d seen her, had even smelt that he was interested. That hadn’t been there when he’d looked at Jennifer. In fact, rather oddly, he’d smelt of nothing at all when he looked at her, almost like he was shutting it off entirely.

Carla shrugged slightly at that. Maybe he’d thought she wouldn’t react well to it, some omegas didn’t.

*****

After a couple weeks Daniels asked Carla out to dinner, which she pretended to be surprised by and then graciously accepted. He had good taste as well, taking her to a good Argentine steakhouse far enough away from the hospital to feel like they could actually be away from the place.

Carla had been asked on dates to the damn coffee shop there before. Some doctors seemed to not realize there was actually a world outside the hospital. Fortunately Ryan wasn’t like that.

Also, it gave Carla an excuse to wear some of her fancier clothes. Carla enjoyed being fancy.

She smiled at him over the empanadas. “It’s very kind of you to be helping Jenny out the way you are.”

Ryan’s expression shifted briefly and Carla noticed the odd way he seemed to clamp down on releasing any pheromones for a second. Then he relaxed again and casually asked what she meant.

“Well, you know… showing confidence in her abilities, asking her to help you out. She’s really coming out of herself.”

She had been as well. Carla disliked people saying omegas or women were blossoming, it seemed a disrespectful analogy, but in this case it felt like the right word. Jenny was more confident in her abilities, more outgoing, more cheerful.

“Oh. Yeah, sure. It’s not exactly kind, you know, it’s what we should be doing. Helping the younger doctors and nurses, mentoring them.”

Carla found this oddly reassuring. Mentoring was such an unsexy word and despite what she’d said to Laverne there was a little part of her that was maybe a little nervous that Ryan would be interested in Jenny. She was younger than Carla and undeniably pretty, small with big blue eyes and curly blonde hair. She never seemed to recognize her own attractiveness.

Carla raised her glass of Malbec. “Exactly. To mentoring the youngsters. Cheers.”

Ryan smiled and clinked his glass against her’s. “Now… I’m definitely old enough to refer to them as ‘youngsters’, but you aren’t. You’re younger than her, surely?”

Carla’s smile turned smoky, more seductive and she gave Ryan a smoldering look. “Oh, Doctor Daniels… flattery gets you _everywhere_.”

It was going to be a fun evening.

*****

A couple of days later, Carla noticed that Jennifer was suddenly withdrawn again. It went beyond how she usually was.

With a stab of guilt Carla wondered whether Jenny had heard about her and Ryan. Whilst she’d been worried there might have been some interest from Ryan in Jenny, she’d never really considered whether Jenny would be upset at him and Carla becoming an item.

She felt bad about that. Yes, she had pointed him out and said she thought he was hot and yes, Jenny never seemed to even want to go on dates, but she maybe should have told her before she went to the restaurant with him. Maybe Jenny had misinterpreted his kind gestures as something else? Was she feeling upset and betrayed by Carla now?

Carla tracked Jennifer down to the locker room after their shifts had ended. She was sat on the bench in the middle of the room staring in front of her at nothing. Her hands were tightly clenched on the edges of the seat and she was breathing deeply.

“Jenny?”

Jennifer seemed to snap out of it, her gaze focusing slowly on Carla. “Oh. Hi Carla.”

“Jenny… are you alright? Only you seem a bit… well, a bit deflated.”

“I’m fine.” It was said in an oddly flat voice. Jennifer stood up and started to undress quickly, yanking her scrubs top off and pulling a long T shirt out of her locker.

“Really? I know you don’t like me prying, it’s just you seemed really happy recently and now you don’t.”

Jennifer took her leggings out of her locker and turned around to face Carla, kicking off her scrubs pants and quickly dragging the leggings up her legs, bending so that the hem of her T shirt dipped down to her knees. Carla read it as possibly a confrontational gesture, the other omega facing her and not being vulnerable when her back was turned. It was an uncharacteristic gesture from Jennifer.

In reality, Jennifer did it to hide the bruising on her thighs from Carla.

“Really Carla… I’m fine.”

“Are you upset about me and Ryan?”

Jennifer blinked and then frowned at Carla. “What?”

“Me and… and Doctor Daniels. About us dating, I thought maybe you’d been told about it?”

Carla had thought she was wrong about her assumption. She was definitely wrong that Jenny was upset because she’d heard about the two of them, since this was clearly news to her. However, maybe she hadn’t been wrong that Jenny had thought there could be something between herself and Ryan. The sudden fraught expression that ran over her face showed she was deeply upset.

“Oh, Jenny, I’m sorry, you didn’t know? Look, I know he’s been really good to you and maybe that made you think that-“

Jennifer shook her head quickly, the expression dropping off her face like it was made of lead. “No, I didn’t know. And… and congratulations, Carla. Really. I… I’m late, I need to get going.”

She rushed out of the locker room, Carla staring after her in bemusement. The smell of misery and guilt lingered after her, confusing Carla even more.

*****

“She’s so upset. I don’t know what to do.”

Laverne rolled her eyes. “White girl problems.”

“ _No,_ Laverne. She wouldn’t say it, but I think she’s upset about me and Ryan.”

“You said she didn’t even know about the two of you before you said about it. And that girl’s been going about with a face like she’s been slapped for over a week now.”

“Yeah, so all the more reason to try to help her, right?”

Laverne shrugged. “Ask her out for cocktails or something. She does drink, right?”

*****

Jennifer was nervously fiddling with her cell phone when Carla arrived at the cocktail bar. She was sat in a booth, not at the bar. Carla wasn’t exactly surprised.

“Hey Jenny.”

Jennifer jumped slightly and then gave her a shaky smile. “Hey Carla.”

Carla eyed the empty glass in front of her. “You started without me?”

“I… I needed it. Dutch courage, y’know?”

Carla sat down opposite her and ordered a daiquiri. “What in aid of? You think I’m going to start prying?”

She was going to start prying, but she tried to sound mildly offended. Jennifer gave her the first genuine smile she’d given anyone in the last few weeks.

“I _know_ you’re going to start prying. But, no, not for that.”

Carla took her drink and glanced back at Jennifer. “Then… for what?”

Jennifer wrung her hands nervously, then gave Carla an apologetic look. “You should stop seeing Doctor Daniels.”

Carla frowned. “What?”

“Doctor Daniels. You should stop seeing him. He’s… he’s not a nice guy, Carla.”

Jennifer’s blue eyes were wide and sincere, her concern for her friend genuine. Carla tried to swallow down her shock at Jennifer’s outburst. Maybe this was the first time that she had felt like this about an alpha? Maybe that was why she was using these strange grade school tactics?

“Look, I know you might be upset about it. I’m sorry, Jenny, I really am, I didn’t realize you were interested in him. You’ll find someone else, he’s probably too old for you anyway.”

Jennifer blinked and then signaled the waiter for another drink. “I’m not interested in him.”

“Oh, come on Jenny. Your behavior-“

Jennifer cut her off. “ _He’s not a nice guy, Carla_.”

Carla stared at her in surprise, both at the sudden, angry tone to her voice and that the waiter had brought her a glass of scotch that she’d abruptly downed.

“How is he not a nice guy?”

Jennifer flushed. “He… he says things. Boasts to the other alpha doctors about how omegas all can’t resist him.”

Carla rolled her eyes. “They all do that.”

“No, they don’t. Even Doctor Cox, however mean he is, never does anything like that. And… and he said about _you_ not being able to resist him.”

Carla blinked. “What?”

“He… he said to them all. That you… that you…”

“Stop making shit up, Jenny. You didn’t even know about us until I told you, now you’re claiming he’s boasting about it after?”

“I didn’t hear all of it, I just heard him boasting about taking some ‘easy’ omega to a steak restaurant and I didn’t realize it was you.”

Carla flushed angrily. “Look… look if he is then that’s shitty of him, but it’s none of your business.”

“But my business is your business?”

“I was _worried_ about you and you’re… you’re _insulting_ me?”

Carla was angry, both hurt and humiliated. Jennifer shook her head. “ _No_. No, Carla, I just… I don’t want you getting mixed up with him, he’s really… he’s a really bad person.”

Carla knew she was hot-headed, knew it was a fault of her’s. She was trying very hard to keep her temper.

“ _How_ exactly is he a ‘really bad person’, Jenny?”

“He… he makes me do… things.”

It was said quietly, nearly choked out of her. Jennifer screwed her face up, trying to swallow down the emotion. Carla stared at her.

“He makes you do things?” Her voice was flat, emotionless.

Jennifer nodded.

“What _sort_ of things?”

“You know what sort of things.”

Carla’s temper – always fraying slightly – was rapidly unraveling. She didn’t know why Jennifer was saying these things and right now she didn’t want to know. She knew, deep down, that she was so annoyed because little things were starting to line up; the real reason that Jennifer started to withdraw, the way Ryan stopped smelling of _anything_ sometimes when Carla brought up Jenny, like he was hiding his response, the occasional glimpse of something steely and hard under that ‘nice guy’ façade.

She was smelling upset, distraught. She tried to stop it and Jennifer reached over to her, concerned. “I’m sorry Carla, I don’t want to upset you. Just someone as nice as you shouldn’t get-“

She touched Carla’s hand, who pulled it back like she’d been burnt. “Jenny, I can’t deal with this right now. I don’t know why you’re saying these things and we’ll talk about it tomorrow, alright?”

“But I-“

“ _Tomorrow_ , Jenny.”

Carla stood up, tossed a twenty onto the table and stalked out.

She started crying on the bus back to her Mom’s house and didn’t stop for over an hour, the humiliation, the pain, the betrayal of it seeming to stab at her. Had he really said those things about her? And… and had he really done that to Jenny? Done ‘things’ to Jenny, made her do things she didn’t want to?

She didn’t _want_ to believe that. But Jenny wasn’t the sort to lie… damn, she wasn’t even the sort to exaggerate.

She didn’t really know what type of person Ryan was. She barely knew him.

She tried calling Jenny’s cell, but it rang off. Carla didn’t really blame Jenny for that, she’d bared her soul to her and Carla hadn’t been thinking of Jenny’s best interests. The shock had been too much, she’d been selfish. She left a message saying as much and told Jenny she’d see her at work. They’d speak about it and figure out what to do.

“Don’t worry, Jenny. We’ll sort this out and that bastard won’t touch you again. You hear me? We’ll make sure of that.”

*****

When Jennifer was late for work the next day, Carla initially thought maybe she’d taken the day off sick. She’d been upset the night before and Carla hadn’t been as receptive as she should have been. Or maybe she was just a little late.

By midday Carla was worried. She asked personnel about Jennifer, who hadn’t received a sick call. Carla went and told the Chief of Medicine she was concerned. This was met with bluster and a slightly sarcastic comment about omegas getting overwhelmed by timekeeping. When she left he dropped this front and anxiously started looking into it. He had a soft spot for omegas, which he carefully concealed. He had to.

*****

At 1300 that day the news came in that Jennifer Kirkpatrick had been found.

She was dangling from a tree near her apartment building. She had hanged herself.

*****

“ _You_ _did this_!”

Tears were streaming down Carla’s face. She had cornered Daniels just as he was going into surgery. He frowned at her.

“Carla, I’m about to operate, I can’t-“

“Jenny’s dead.”

He froze. “What?”

“Jenny? You know, that girl that you took advantage of? She’s _dead_ , Ryan. She killed herself.”

He gave her a worried glance and then pulled her to one side, out of earshot of the other doctors.

“She committed suicide?” He snorted softly. “How pathetic.”

“ _Pathetic?_ You do this to her and then call her that?”

“Oh please…” he rolled his eyes. Carla snarled and he jumped.

“She said you _did things_ to her.”

“She wanted them,” he growled back. “Sorry, Carla. I mean, we didn’t discuss being exclusive and-“

“You piece of shit,” she hissed at him. “She didn’t want you to do that and she was too scared to stop you. That’s why you did that to her, right? I mean, you know that kind of shit doesn’t work on someone like me, so you look for someone who’s shy, who’s timid-”

“No, I don’t need to do that to you. You give it away.”

Carla froze like she’d been slapped. “ _What?_ ”

Daniels shrugged, then smirked at her. “You heard. Don’t try and pin this shit on me. It’s not my fault omegas are whores then get hysterical when they realize no decent alpha will have them when they’re impure.”

He turned on his heel and went into the OR.

*****

The pain of Daniels’ words and actions lingered with Carla for a long time afterwards. That she had misjudged him so badly. That he’d said those things about her – and she knew some of the other alphas believed him, although fortunately the alphas whose opinions she valued didn’t seem to have listened.

What was worse – what was infinitely worse – was Jennifer. Carla felt responsible for causing that initial meeting, for _encouraging_ him to keep ‘mentoring’ Jennifer. For not protecting Jennifer, for her reaction that she desperately wished she could have changed. If she’d just kept her temper and comforted Jenny, brought her back to her home, _looked after_ her… then Jenny would still be alive.

And worst of all, the horrible pain that her friend – her friend who had felt like her little sister, her timid, sweet, shy friend – had felt so very alone, so hopeless, so bleak. So desperate that she’d taken her own life. It was a terrible, deep, anguished pain, spiky and fraying like broken fiberglass. Nothing would assuage it, nothing would make that hollow ache dissipate.

She tried to get justice for her. Tried to get Daniels struck off for inappropriate conduct with a subordinate. Went to the hospital board.

Daniels eventually admitted to a sexual relationship with Jennifer – making sure he added he’d had a sexual relationship with Carla as well, a vicious little attempt to hurt her. He claimed Jennifer had pestered him for sex, claimed she initiated it. He strongly implied Carla had found out and attacked Jenny in a fit of jealousy and _that_ was the reason that Jennifer had done what she did.

He couldn’t help how irrational omegas were.

To Carla’s horror, his story was believed by the (predominantly alpha) board. Omegas squabbling and not being able to control their mating urge. Of course it had ended with such a dramatic outcome, that’s what omegas were like. Hysterical. Impractical. Not suited for a professional environment and certainly not for a medical environment. That's why only recessives were allowed and they should count their blessings for that.

Carla knew that some of the alphas didn’t believe that. The Chief of Medicine rejected the suggestion from the board that the omega staff get regular psychological assessments to check their fitness for work. And after a year he claimed that staffing cuts meant that Daniels had to be moved to a nearby hospital, away from them. To one where a close colleague of his kept a close eye on him and kept any omega staff away from him.

The day after Jennifer was found, Carla was given the note she had left. She both treasured and despised that note. She read it regularly to remind herself to pay close attention to her fellow omegas.

_Carla,_

_I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say, other than I’m sorry._

_You deserve better. You deserve so much better than him and that’s the only reason I told you. I didn’t want to upset you, I’m so sorry I upset you. You’ve always looked out for me, I was just trying to look out for you._

_I’m sorry I’m not strong enough to do this. I got your message. You weren’t selfish, Carla, you were just surprised. That’s normal and none of this is on you. Thank you for offering to help make it stop. I can’t do all that, I just thought I’d pretend it never happened, but I see now that it’s with me forever._

_I can’t deal with that. I just can’t._

_I’m sorry._

_Jenny_

Carla didn’t trust another alpha for a long time. And when she did he had to work hard to keep it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one hopefully explains some of Carla's attitude in "My Unorthodox Treatment" and why she reacts the way she does in the story. 
> 
> This chapter is the reason it took so long for me to write "My Fellow Omegas"; I found this one very difficult. Suicide is not a subject I take lightly, it's hit very close to home for me and it was a wrench writing about it, if I'm honest. If this has impacted on you, please talk to someone. Please.
> 
> On a lighter note, I quite enjoyed writing beta Laverne, who is being mildly homophobic (or secondary gender homophobic or something) in this. I'm not actually sure why she isn't in MUT, since it should be set before her death, maybe she was on vacation during the whole thing and will soon return and be very confused. And yes, that's Perry and Kelso - being really obvious about it felt weirdly distracting, I'm not sure why.


	4. Iolite's Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Trauma, violence, emotional/psychological abuse

My Fellow Omegas

**Iolite’s Story**

**By RumCove**

Disclaimer: These chapters relate to OCs that I wrote for my Scrubs fanfiction, My Unorthodox Treatment. All OCs belong to me, whilst any occasional Scrubs characters belong to Bill Lawrence and NBC/ABC/Doozer Productions etc.

“Stranger You Are” by Adam Lambert:

_Papa told me to stay strong_   
_To tighten up my bootstraps_   
_Before I get walked on_   
_Don't you give up (ooh, yeah)_

_Now I'm rockin' Versace with my dog_   
_In my shades, I'ma slay Rodeo y'all_   
_I'ma fuck up a check and spend it all_   
_Gonna have a Tequila kinda day (mhm)_

_'Cause the stranger you are_   
_They wanna keep you locked in the dark_   
_Said the stranger you are_   
_They're gonna try to tear you apart_

_But I'm 6'3", baby, with boots on_   
_If you think you can beat me_   
_I'm nothin' to walk on_   
_It's all in the strut (yeah, yeah)_

_Now I'm rockin' Versace with my dog_   
_In my shades, I'ma slay Rodeo y'all_   
_I'ma fuck up a check and spend it all_   
_Gonna have a Tequila kinda day (hey, whoa)_

_'Cause the stranger you are (ooh, yeah)_   
_They wanna keep you locked in the dark (ooh, oh)_   
_Said the stranger you are_   
_They're gonna try to tear you apart_

_'Cause the stranger you are_   
_They wanna keep you locked in the dark_   
_And the stranger you are_   
_They're gonna try to tear you apart_

_The stranger you are_   
_They wanna keep you locked in the dark_   
_And the stranger you are_   
_They're gonna try to tear you apart_

*Seven years before the beginning of “My Unorthodox Treatment”*

“You _bastard_!”

Iolite FitzAlan panted, glaring furiously at the door in the gloom of the basement she had just been physically thrown into, taking small, slightly choked breaths that made her slender chest heave. Then she began to hurl herself into the door again, knowing it was no use, knowing she was too small, too weak, too frustratingly _little_ to make any sort of impact. But she did it anyway, dashing herself into it over and over again like an enraged mother bear trying to defend her cubs.

“I mean it, you little bitch,” was snarled back through the door by her older brother. Mica FItzAlan was an unusual-looking alpha, tall but almost willowy in appearance, 22 years old with slicked-back blond hair and his normally large blue eyes narrowed as he listened to his sister’s furious shrieks.

“Mica, _please_.”

Amber FitzAlan was identical in all ways to her twin locked in the basement, the same large green eyes, pale skin, small stature and long, gently waving reddish-brown hair. She looked physically sick at the sound of the other omega’s screams of rage. She clasped her hands in front of her and widened her eyes, an appealing omega gesture, trying desperately to make Mica relax, completely confused by what had just happened. She was already releasing relaxing rose-scented pheromones in an attempt to defuse the situation. Mica snorted in response and then snarled back when the other FitzAlan sibling, Alex, let out a low, threatening growl. Mica was taller than Alex, but much more lightly built; however he was confident that his age and the fact he’d bullied Alex since the day he was born meant that the other alpha wouldn’t physically engage him.

Despite the various screams of rage and increasingly strong pheromones from the group of dominant mixed alphas and omegas, nobody else came to see what was happening. A housekeeper had stuck her head around the door when the argument began and been bellowed at by Mica to leave and not interrupt. As the alpha and the oldest son of her employer he had been immediately obeyed without question.

Iolite closed her eyes and leant her forehead against the door, listening to her sister sobbing. She could already feel the blood throbbing in her sore shoulders and forearms from running into the door, could feel it bruising already. She _hated_ it, she hated how _delicate_ she was. Amber was… proud of it in an odd way, but it infuriated Iolite. It didn’t reflect her somehow and the various attempts by the finishing school to make her “behave” had, in fact, made her more rebellious. More angry. More contrary. More reckless.

Which was sort of what had caused this. In a roundabout way. Iolite turned around and slid down the door, her back pressed against it and tried to choke down the omega guilt and protectiveness that she could hear Amber distressed and couldn’t comfort her.

She wished she’d never gone into Mica’s room a year ago.

He’d been back from university with a friend, another alpha. Iolite and Amber had been 16 at the time and been intrigued by Mica’s friend. He was older, he was handsome and he was _alpha_. Presenting as dominant omegas at 11 had meant that neither of the girls had had any exposure to unrelated alphas since then, apart from occasionally seeing them at dinners or parties that their parents occasionally took them to.

Of course, they hadn’t been allowed to engage with Mica’s friend much. Whilst their parents were progressive and had no plans to force a bond on either sister, they were very protective and wouldn’t leave a young dominant alpha unchaperoned with either girl. For good reason really, most dominant alphas never saw omegas either. This lack of exposure and youth meant this would probably have been a terrible idea for all involved.

So they had only really seen him at meals and occasionally at a distance. Amber’s main response was simply to stare at him, wide eyed and utterly incapable of any form of intelligent conversation, occasionally blushing and looking away if he ever looked back at her. Iolite had tried to engage him in conversation; about his studies, about how he found university life, what his hobbies were. He’d been charming and good company, talking verbosely about his interests and listening to Iolite’s replies, an unusual trait for an alpha talking to an omega. Mica had sat with a sulky expression on his face during these exchanges.

Mica and Iolite had never hugely gotten along. They were too similar, sharing an intelligence and moodiness that made them intriguing and appear artistically mercurial to others, but frustrating and annoying to one another. Iolite had assumed that Mica’s sulkiness was just because she was being recognized as someone with her own views and intelligence, something that always seemed to grate on her brother.

Until she had snuck into Mica’s room. She had dared Amber to come along with her, but her sister had been terrified at the very idea. As she was essentially incapable of speech around alphas then Iolite supposed it probably wasn’t all that appealing either. Iolite certainly didn’t have any plans to try to seduce the alpha or anything like that – she was mainly hoping to catch a sight of him topless or something similar. Maybe have a brief clandestine discussion, maybe briefly touch hands or look lingeringly into his eyes. Girlish fantasies, silly romantic thoughts, but Iolite was _bored_. The lure was too much and felt almost indecently erotic.

So she had snuck into Mica’s room, using one of the housekeepers keys and looked in the small anteroom to his bedroom, finding neither in there. She snuffled softly at the air, smelling the pheromones of both and… _another_ smell. One she’d never smelt before. It had smelt… alluring, masculine, a siren call. She had crept forward and peeped through the door to the bedroom.

Where she had seen her brother and the other alpha in bed together, naked and writhing. The smell hit her hard then and she realized that… that…

That her brother was being fucked like an omega.

This – combined with the intense smell – that was permeating the room had made her gasp softly. Both alphas had looked around and caught sight of her. And Iolite – Iolite FitzAlan, who angrily demanded to be treated the same as everyone else, who never made an omega noise in front of alphas, who stubbornly refused to learn “omega handicrafts” at her finishing school – looked terrified, squeaked and ran.

She could hear them both moving around in the bedroom and her surprise had overwhelmed her to the point that she started to panic and dropped the key that she needed to open the door. Horrified, she picked it up off of the floor with shaking hands and started to unlock the door she had silently and stealthily locked behind her. All logical thought and fine motor skills seemed to have completely deserted her.

Exactly why she was so frightened didn’t make a huge amount of sense to Iolite. It didn’t bother her that Mica was doing that – he could do what he wanted and alphas were encouraged to basically have sex with everything. Just they… well, they were supposed to be on top. _Obviously,_ logistically someone had to be on the bottom, but… but you were supposed to conveniently forget that. Another of the stupid things you were just supposed to ignore.

So, no, she wasn’t upset or disgusted or anything like that. But she knew Mica would be furious that he’d been seen in a compromising position. By _her_ , of all people, that would undoubtedly make it worse. So maybe if she just got out of here then they’d both forget or be too embarrassed to bring it up or –

Or it was irrelevant because Iolite managed to get the door unlocked and started to pull it open to slip outside when Mica, completely naked, appeared next to her and slammed it back shut, leaning his palm against the wood paneling to stop her trying to reopen it. She glanced up at him, eyes enormous, shaking.

And apparently she looked so scared that he softly said: “It’s alright Amber, I’m not angry.”

Of course he thought she was Amber. Iolite had a constant sarcastic expression, smirk or look of annoyance on her face. She was unrecognizable to Mica frightened and vulnerable.

Briefly she was tempted – ever so tempted – to allow the misunderstanding to run. Mica would be happier. She would definitely be happier. But she couldn’t do that to Amber. Even though Mica definitely preferred Amber to Iolite, there’d still be hell to pay for this and Iolite wouldn’t have that fall on her sister. So she softly replied: “I’m not Amber.”

Mica’s expression hardened and he abruptly slapped her across the face, so hard it knocked her off her feet. She crashed onto the pile carpet and scrabbled to her feet, backing away from him quickly, already starting to feel the defensive venom filling her razor-sharp canines. Mica stalked towards her, furious.

“Io, if you _ever_ tell anyone about this-“

“Of course I won’t,” she snapped back. Part of her wanted to cry. Of course she wouldn’t. She’d never do anything with this, didn’t Mica _listen_ to her? She was always saying that people should be allowed to just act as they wanted, not how they were told. She didn’t just mean that for omegas, she wasn’t a massive hypocrite. Mica could screw – or be screwed by – whoever he wanted.

But her brother apparently didn’t care that his little sister, who he could smell was terrified and near tears, was telling him that she wouldn’t say anything. He grabbed her by the collar of the floaty, feminine dress that she was wearing, dragging her close to him and snarled into her face. Iolite felt the collar rip, the delicate material renting as her brother released domination pheromones that she couldn’t avoid inhaling, considering how close he was to her. He glared into her enormous eyes, pupils dilated and trying to crouch into a submissive omega gesture in response to his pheromones.

“I will kill you Io. You hear me? I-will-kill-you.”

She stared back at him, shaking.

“Oh, is that the smart one? Is she joining us? That’d be fun.”

And Iolite was shocked that she felt a sudden wash of pity for Mica when she saw his face crumple in response. Because clearly for him this wasn’t just fucking anything or getting something out of his system. It meant more to him.

Mica was in love with another alpha.

Iolite took advantage of seeing her brother’s heart break right in front of her eyes by yanking herself out of his grasp, hearing her dress rip further and sprinting out of the door, running down the corridor in a zig-zagging pattern to escape any chase from either alpha.

She didn’t stop until she got to her bedroom and collapsed, shaking, into her bed, spending the evening in agony as her canines were filled with venom and needed to bite something to drain it. She refused to talk to Amber about it, who just sat next to her on the bed and stroked her back. She had never spoken to anyone about it.

Not because Mica threatened to kill her. And not even necessarily because it was so wrong that he had felt so frightened of the consequences that he had felt that he had to threaten her.

But because that pained expression on his face haunted her. Because no matter how badly he treated her and how vicious he could be… she understood why now. Mica’s sourness and frustration and apparent hatred of omegas was because he felt as forced into this charade as she did.

Mica had never raised it with Iolite again and she certainly never planned to speak to him about it. Until a couple weeks ago, when Mica had announced that he was engaged to an omega who was in the year above Iolite and Amber at the finishing school they were at. She had known they were dating, had seen them have some chaperoned dates, but Iolite had seen Mica do this before. He’d date an omega for a while as a cover, then be single for as long as possible. When their mother started match-making for him Mica would mysteriously pick up another omega for a few dates.

Her family had been delighted. Iolite had watched her father look proud, her mother hopeful, Amber beaming and demanding to help with the wedding planning whilst Alex had stood around with a pleased grin on his face, playfully suggesting that Mica would be in a better mood if he was married. Iolite had sat, sullen, through the whole performance and then slipped into Mica’s room afterwards. This time she took a taser, just in case.

She didn’t need it. Mica was drunk, sprawled in a chair, his shirt open and tie unlaced around his neck, looking over at her. He squinted, trying to work out which one she was. She sat on the desk opposite him.

“It’s Io, Mica.”

He grimaced. “What do you want?”

“Are you really going to do it?”

Mica took a swig of the scotch in the glass in his hand. “Do what?”

“Marry Meena?”

“Why? Don’t you like Meena?”

“Of course I like Meena, I know her. She’s lovely. She’s pretty and kind and sweet. She’s also not got a massive alpha cock, so why are you doing this, Mica?”

Mica flinched violently and then looked around furtively. “What the hell…?”

“What, I’m just supposed to conveniently forget what I saw? You don’t _want_ this, Mica. You’ll make yourself miserable. And her, what about her?”

“Look, just because you saw me… saw me dabbling or whatever-“

“Don’t try that Mica. I’m not stupid. You love him, right? Are you still seeing him?”

Mica flushed, looking away. “Look… it’s just… convenient, alright? A way of getting rid of the ruts and horniness.”

“Are you actually telling yourself that?”

He stared back at her, miserable. “I’m an _alpha_ , Io. This is what I’m supposed to want. Not that. I can’t have that.”

“Yes, you _can_ , Mica. Maybe not with him if that’s what he’s saying too, but there’ll be other alphas out there who want the same thing. You don’t need to make yourself miserable because of other people’s expectations.”

“Right. Because Mom and Dad will be delighted if I bring a massive dominant alpha home as a partner.”

“Why not? If he’s nice. They’re pretty liberal about me and Amber, there’s no reason to think they’ll be all backwards about you.”

“Because they want grandkids, Io.”

“So? You could use a surrogate. Or just leave it to Alex, he’s definitely omega-sexual. And Amber’ll inevitably have a few, she’s already picking baby names. The weirdo.”

Mica shook his head despondently. Iolite stared at him a moment longer then softly asked: “Why are you so determined to do something that’ll only hurt you?”

“I have to.”

“And what about Meena? Don’t you think she deserves a partner who actually loves and wants her?”

Mica ignored Iolite and carried on drinking. So Iolite had slipped out and done the only thing she could think to do.

She had sex with Meena.

She hadn’t _intended_ to have sex with Meena. The omega finishing school that they attended had individual bedrooms (although Iolite and Amber just had a double room that they shared, refusing to sleep in separate beds) and Iolite had stolen some vodka and snuck over to Meena’s room. She had been planning on trying to dissuade Meena from the marriage somehow. She wasn’t sure how, she wasn’t going to tell Meena about Mica’s sexual preferences. But she had a vague idea that she’d just (truthfully) say that Mica was a moody bastard and Meena could do a lot better.

Meena had been sickeningly upbeat about the whole thing, gushingly telling Iolite about how strong and silent Mica was.

“That’s because he’s boring, Meena. With no interest in anyone else’s opinions.”

“And he’s so _clever_. He’s starting up a business, he’s an entrepreneur. It would be so easy for someone like him to do nothing and just rely on the family money, but he’s determined to make his own way. That’s impressive.”

Iolite had to admit that it was. Mica certainly wasn’t lazy, stupid or willing to rest on his laurels.

“But… Meena, you’re only eighteen. Why not wait a bit? Date a bit longer, make sure?”

Meena looked suspicious. “Why? Has he said something?”

“No… just… y’know. Meena and Mica. That’s an awful couple name.”

Having run out of arguments, Iolite had simply played her ace card of taking off her clothes. It had worked gratifyingly well, particularly considering she’d drunk the majority of the vodka whilst trying to come up with ways of dissuading the match. Meena had been enthusiastic. And, not to put too fine a point on it, Iolite knew she was appealing, admittedly in (in her mind) an annoyingly cute way.

It wasn’t exactly unusual, despite what society as a whole assumed. Omegas were incredibly sexually charged and were essentially locked up with other omegas. In addition to this they had the desire to physically be in contact with one another, which could easily get misinterpreted when they were feeling horny. It wasn’t the first time Iolite had fooled around with another omega; she wasn’t interested in who she was supposed to find attractive, just in who she actually did.

Iolite had attempted to identify as pansexual. However, she’d been told only betas were categorized as heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual and all the other sexuals. Omegas weren’t allowed to do that.

Iolite ignored this and continued to identify as pansexual.

Meena, however, did not identify as pansexual and this caused something of a crisis with her when she woke up with Iolite asleep next to her, completely naked and tangled up with the other omega. The fact that she had played a considerably more active role than the rather inebriated Iolite bothered her. It bothered her even more that when Iolite woke up and smiled, blinking her big luminous green eyes at her sleepily Meena’s treacherous body produced a load of slick and engaged in a second round with her.

Meena broke the engagement with Mica. Iolite did not feel guilty about this at all. Mica had been being a coward. Iolite could forgive him for that, but not for potentially ruining Meena’s life, just so that he could hide from himself. She was worried that Meena would tell Mica the reason behind the break up; she knew Mica would be incredibly annoyed about that.

Iolite also felt guilty that Meena kept giving her longing glances and moping sadly. Iolite wasn’t very good at relationships. She was good at sex, not at relationships. She suspected more sex would just potentially increase Meena’s expectations that Iolite was anything other than a total hot mess without the emotional maturity to deal with anyone’s feelings. That was Amber’s forte.

However, Mica didn’t appear and murder Iolite and Meena kept her distance. After a fortnight Iolite breathed a sigh of relief. She’d done the right thing (sort of), she’d stopped something that would have caused everyone pain and she’d kept Mica’s secret. She’d also had some really good sex, which had been an unexpected added bonus.

She was still congratulating herself when Mica had come back to the family home unexpectedly and walked into the sitting room, where she, Amber and Alex were sat, laughing, joking and playing Call of Duty.

“Hey bro,” Alex had grinned, then frozen when he saw Mica’s expression. Alex’s fear of Mica was strongly ingrained from his childhood, where Mica had pushed him around and verbally and physically abused him from an early age. Iolite had always thought that this was just due to Mica being a bastard, but had later suspected it had something to do with Mica’s insecurities around his own “alphaness”. Not only was Alex a much more dominant omega – his pheromones made this very clear – but it was a well-kept family secret than Mica was borderline between dominant and recessive alpha. Iolite was relatively certain that the only reason Mica was assessed as over the edge into dominant was due to their father paying large donations to the local private practice they used.

Mica had snarled at Alex to shut up, walked over, seized Iolite by the throat and slammed her into the wall. Alex had frozen in place, shocked into immobility, whilst Amber had screamed. A housekeeper had appeared and been immediately told to leave by Mica. Iolite watched her go, feeling a twinge of terror.

“You,” Mica had growled at her. Iolite stared back at him, hardly daring to breathe. He must know.

Amber grabbed Mica’s forearm, sobbing and begging him to let go. Mica apparently wasn’t furious enough to shove Amber away, just ignoring her. Alex tentatively stepped towards him.

“Mica, put her down.”

Mica had shaken Iolite sharply, causing her teeth the clash together and her head to slam into the wall. The cutting pain made her hiss and she felt the venom building in her fangs.

“You don’t know what this little whore’s done.” Mica growled.

 _Ah, he definitely knows_ thought Iolite. She brought her feet up, knees curled against her stomach and kicked out at Mica, pedaling in the air, trying to either kick him or wriggle enough that he dropped her. Neither worked.

“It doesn’t matter what she’s done,” Alex continued, soothingly. “You can’t do that Mica, you can’t hurt our little sister. You know she never means any harm-“

“Oh, _doesn’t_ she?” Mica turned his glare to Alex. “She’s… she’s…”

Iolite felt a brief surge of triumph that Mica would never admit that Iolite had seduced his own fiancé. He’d lose too much face.

“She’s what?”

“There’s rumors going around her school. That she’s been fucking other omegas.”

Iolite glanced over at Alex, who looked utterly unsurprised. “And this shocks you?”

Mica growled. “Right. And what about Amber? Just because Iolite’s a little slut doesn’t mean Amber should suffer, but no one can tell the two of them apart. She’s not just hurting herself, she’s hurting Amber too.”

“Everyone can tell us apart,” Iolite snarled, having difficulty speaking from her throat being constricted and all the venom starting to bleed out from her fangs.

“I don’t care what Io does!” Amber cried out, shoving angrily at Mica. “Put her _down_ , Mica, you’re hurting her. She’s scared.”

Iolite was furious that she was releasing frightened pheromones, but worse that Mica didn’t even seem to be responding to them. She wriggled again and then clawed at his arm.

“Put me down.”

Mica glared at her. “You little filthy, unnatural piece of shit-“

“I’m not the only one,” Iolite snarled back, then realized her mistake.

She had meant Meena, a half-assed “it takes two to tango” comment to try to make Mica see sense. She saw his eyes widen at this, before a look of fury ran over his face and she realized he thought she meant him and that she was about to say what she’d seen.

Mica punched her in the stomach.

The surprise seemed to hurt even more than the physical pain, her body automatically curling in on itself. Alphas simply _didn’t_ hurt omegas, they snarled at them and intimidated them and treated them like shit, but they didn’t hit them. She gasped sharply, suddenly overwhelmed by the pain. Her self-preservation instincts kicked in immediately.

Amber had been hanging onto Mica’s arm, even still attached to it as he punched Iolite. Horrified, she screamed at him, uncharacteristically baring her fangs. Alex furiously leapt forward, seizing Mica’s other arm, causing him to drop Iolite.

Iolite responded automatically and bit Mica’s arm, her fangs driving into the forearm that Amber was still holding immobilized, releasing venom into his bloodstream. Amber made a horrified noise and grabbed Iolite’s jaw, pulling her off Mica’s arm before her jaws could snap shut and lock.

Mica stared at his arm in shock, already feeling the burn of the venom in his bloodstream, then looked back at Iolite, Amber trying to keep her dazed, pained sister standing upright and standing between the two of them, hoping to protect her twin.

“You _bit_ me.”

Iolite stared back at him, confused.

“You _bit_ me, you little cunt. I swear Io, I’ll find the shittiest, nastiest, most abusive alpha I can and I’ll get you force-bonded.”

Mica shoved Amber out of the way, seized Iolite, dragged her over to the stairs to the basement and physically threw her down the stairs, slamming the door shut and leaning against it. Amber and Alex both ran at him and he snarled back at them. There was silence from the other side of the door, Amber starting to whimper.

“You’ve killed her.”

“No I haven’t.”

“Io!”

“Shut up, Amber.”

Amber glared at him, her eyes full of tears and then furiously screamed “ _Iolite!”_

Iolite’s eyes fluttered open at the bottom of the basement stairs. She flinched, her stomach still aching and bruised from the fall down the stairs, which were mercifully quite shallow. She sat up dazedly, feeling light-headed from Mica’s treatment and also from biting him.

“Shut the fuck up, Amber!”

She abruptly reanimated and hurled herself against the door. “You _bastard_!”

*****

Mica was still staring at his arm in shock, the venom still burning through his system. Iolite had stopped throwing herself into the door, going quiet and Mica had felt a sudden, overwhelming sense of guilt. He’d hurt her, he’d properly hurt her. She was an omega and she was small even for an omega, despite her angry façade and everything else that she put on. And he’d… he’d gone crazy, he’d _attacked_ her. And like brother, like sister. She’d bitten him right back.

“She _bit_ me.”

“She didn’t bite your neck, you’re fine. Let her out.” Alex was looking beside himself with rage, still only just managing to stop himself from throwing himself at Mica.

“No. Hey, Io? You realize what you just did?”

Iolite’s voice floated out from behind the door. “Defended myself?”

“No, you _bit_ me. I can call the registration people, Iolite. Tell them you bit an alpha, show them, they can even check your venom and confirm it’s you. You’d get declared as feral, Io, you realize that? They’d forcibly bond you, Mom and Dad’s wealth wouldn’t protect you.”

On the other side of the door, Iolite was in pain and terrified. This statement was enough to push her over into panic. Fear surged through her when she realized that Mica was right, that he had undeniable proof that she was feral, that if he wanted to (and of course he wanted to) he could get rid of her. Get a stranger to bite her, rape her, force her into subservience. A chill, horrified sensation started in her stomach and her eyes widened, wrapping her arms around her aching body. Tears began, unbidden to drip down her face.

When Iolite began to howl in dread Alex finally acted, shoving Mica out the way even as he released dominating pheromones that made Mica cringe backwards. Alex threw the door open and grabbed the shivering, howling, sobbing omega and pulled her against him, desperately trying to calm her down and reassure her that she was safe. Amber suddenly turned on Mica, snarling.

“You get out of here Mica. Before you get a matching bite.”

*****

A week later Iolite FitzAlan had her long hair cut off, multiple piercings put in her ears and a tattoo applied to her back. She claimed it was so Mica could never claim her behavior could affect Amber again, but in reality she was desperate to look less omega. Her horror at how vulnerable and overpowered she had felt was haunting her. She still looked omega and that feeling would continue to haunt her.

But, she reasoned, she looked pretty cool, so she thought she’d keep it.

She pretended not to notice that her pheromones had started to become unstable, that she increasingly was unable to regulate herself without Amber’s help. And Amber didn’t say anything, knowing how much it upset Iolite. She went along with Iolite’s act that what Mica had done hadn’t psychologically and physically damaged her so badly, that she wasn’t traumatized.

Alex didn’t say anything either. But he made sure that Iolite was never left alone with Mica ever again. And promised himself that he’d never freeze up like that again. That he’d never let another omega be hurt if he could stop it.

Alex pretended he wasn’t traumatized as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iolite's deregulation is caused by a combination of her being in pain, suddenly realising how vulnerable she is and her fear of what Mica threatens her with (she's terrified of being "feral"), plus the idea of a member of her family betraying her. It's arguably not as traumatic as the experiences of some of the other stories within this, but was enough to start her in the process of deregulation. She then tries to ignore it, which stops it from getting properly treated.
> 
> Mica's the worst.
> 
> Also, Io is the only omega with two songs - "Stranger You Are" by Adam Lambert in this and "Confident" by Demi Lovato in MUT :)


	5. Greg's Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, rape/non con, domestic abuse, violence
> 
> Additional warning: I personally find this one the most upsetting to read.

My Fellow Omegas

**Greg’s Story**

**By RumCove**

Disclaimer: These chapters relate to OCs that I wrote for my Scrubs fanfiction, My Unorthodox Treatment. All OCs belong to me, whilst any occasional Scrubs characters belong to Bill Lawrence and NBC/ABC/Doozer Productions etc.

“Quiet” by Nine Inch Nails:

_I hurt myself today_   
_To see if I still feel_   
_I focus on the pain_   
_The only thing that's real_   
_The needle tears a hold_   
_The old familiar sting_   
_Try to kill it all away_   
_But I remember everything_

_What have I become_   
_My sweetest friend_   
_Everyone I know goes away_   
_In the end_

_And you could have it all_   
_My empire of dirt_

_I will let you down_   
_I will make you hurt_

_I wear this crown of thorns_   
_Upon my liar's chair_   
_Full of broken thoughts_   
_I cannot repair_   
_Beneath the stains of time_   
_The feelings disappear_   
_You are someone else_   
_I am still right here_

_What have I become_   
_My sweetest friend_   
_Everyone I know goes away_   
_In the end_

_And you could have it all_   
_My empire of dirt_

_I will let you down_   
_I will make you hurt_   
_If I could start again_

_A million miles away_   
_I would keep myself_   
_I would find a way_

*Five years before the beginning of “My Unorthodox Treatment”*

“Oh, look, they’ve got an omega back there. Isn’t that sweet that they’re letting one help with the puppies?”

Greg Kennedy frowned, trying to ignore the condescending comment as he held a wriggling German Shepherd puppy still and gently injected it with a Parvovirus vaccine. The little furry creature burrowed into his shirt and he smiled, stroking a hand over the warm, soft little dog, trying to comfort it from the sting of the syringe.

“Oh God, they’re so cute, right?”

Greg continued to ignore this and hoped that the alpha he could hear was referring to the puppies and not himself. He knew how he looked; he was visibly omega, even though he wasn’t dominant. You don’t need to have glowing eyes when you’re 5’5 and keep getting IDed for buying paracetamol, despite being 30. And the less said about the damn bond scar on his neck the better.

He picked up the next puppy and tickled it under the chin, prepping the next shot. He smelt Stuart come out of his office as he did so, the dominant alpha pheromones reaching him almost immediately.

“Hey man. Can my omega come and play with the puppies too?”

Stuart frowned at the customer, a large alpha with a cat in a carry cage, looking over at Greg who mainly looked like a mess of blond hair amongst some squeaking little canines. From the set of his shoulders he could see that Greg was annoyed.

“He’s not playing with the puppies. He’s a veterinary nurse, he’s vaccinating them.”

Greg looked back and gave Stuart a quick smile and then rolled his eyes slightly. Stuart smiled back and then took the cat into his consulting room.

After Greg had finished with the puppies (and admittedly did play with them briefly as well and may or may not have sat and kissed their soft little noses) he put them back with the bitch. He went out to reception and frowned at Stuart’s door, leaning against the desk and shoving his hands into his scrubs pockets.

Why the hell did alphas feel the need to make _comments_ like that? It was bad enough that Eric did that, claiming his career was just him “playing with little fluffy animals” and how cute that was that he did that and thought it was a “real job”. When Greg had pointed out that he assisted with surgeries and it definitely was a real job Eric had just given him a condescending look.

“Just make sure what you’re wearing isn’t too revealing, yeah babe?”

Yeah, like scrubs were revealing. Also, Greg _hated_ being called “babe”.

When Stuart came back out of his consulting room Greg was still leaning against the reception, frowning and looking slightly dishevelled from catching puppies and apparently flipping through a chat magazine. He looked cute, Stuart noted and then tried to quash that thought. He really didn’t need temptations like that at work, particularly with a subordinate. And he wasn’t into that whole male omega thing, that wasn’t him.

“What’s up?”

Greg rolled his eyes. “That shit. I’m waiting to be worming a cat and someone suggesting I’m just inexpertly feeding it or something. I’ve got an associate degree from AVMA, for God’s sake.”

Stuart smirked. “Right. Why are you reading horoscopes then?”

Greg blushed. “I’m _not_. Well… I am, but I’m doing it in an ironic way.”

“What are you?”

“Pisces.” Greg muttered. “Apparently I’m going to have a sudden, unexpected fortune. Are you going to give me a bonus?”

“Always possible. I’m Taurus, what does it say?”

“That… you’re going to give your hard-working employee a bonus for putting up with being treated like a moron all the time.”

“Yeah, sure. What does it actually say?”

“’You might assume that someone’s angry outburst would shock you, but today it could inspire you. Their passionate argument for what they strongly believe is something you can learn from. What do you feel passionate about? Get more involved.’”

“I’m assuming the angry outburst is your bonus request.”

“I can be angry about that if you want. Will it make you more passionate?”

Stuart snorted. “Possibly, little rage monster.” He quickly pulled his gaze away from Greg’s blue eyes and looked back at the magazine. “Where did this come from anyway?”

“I think it was left by Lila. I don’t know where she’s gone actually, I’ve been trying to cover the reception as well.”

Stuart shrugged. “Well, she’s definitely not going to get her bonus.”

*****

Greg didn’t own a car. He could drive, but Eric had bought a ridiculously expensive BMW and didn’t let Greg drive it (“do your feet even reach the pedals, babe?”). Greg didn’t like expensive cars anyway, he had driven a battered old Ford before he got together with Eric. Eric had declared it a death trap and too expensive to service, saying he’d give Greg a lift anywhere he needed. Greg snorted; that hadn’t lasted.

He didn’t mind. The surgery was a 30 minute walk from home and he quite liked it. He lived in a small town in Maine, so the walk wasn’t ideal in winter, although he liked walking through the snow. It was fall and usually he enjoyed the crisp walk, but it was drizzling rain. He shivered, pulling his hoodie hood up over his sandy hair and pulling his overlaid blazer closed, wriggling into the thumb holes.

He walked a lot. It was a shame he didn’t have a dog to share his walks with. It could come to work with him and chill in the back while he looked after the other animals. But Eric didn’t like animals, something he had omitted telling Greg early in the relationship. “But you get to look after everyone’s pets at work. You don’t need one of your own, right?”

Greg sighed softly. When he’d first met Eric, he’d seemed fantastic. He’d been kind and caring, although often dismissive. Greg’s parents had both passed away when he’d been younger and he’d been living in a shared apartment in Augusta, just making ends meet as he studied when he was in his early 20s. Eric had impressed him when he’d met him in a coffee shop – he was successful, older, well-educated and cultured. He’d taken Greg to operas and theater, things he’d never been able to see before, never been able to afford. And he’d made him feel special and desirable and fascinating. And not alone, that had been key.

He supposed the warning signs had been there. He’d just glossed them over, blaming Eric’s business making him stressed and of course he was dismissive of Greg’s interest in animals, he was a serious guy and he was a recessive alpha, he didn’t understand omega problems. And Eric had seemed to care, seemed to be really into Greg. It wasn’t until they were bonded that Greg realized that Eric hadn’t been interested in Greg as _Greg_ , he’d been interested in having an omega as a status symbol. And Greg had worked well for that, he was so visibly omega that people often thought he was a dominant wearing contacts.

Eric had wanted a _trophy_ , not him. Wanted someone to take to events and show off with. And Greg was intelligent, charming and cute. When he was in a good mood. Which, let’s face it, wasn’t that often any more. It was hard to be charming when you felt like you were constantly choking down a scream.

His trophy was getting damp though. Greg glanced up at the darkened sky and tried to pull himself out of his depressing thoughts about how his husband had turned into a condescending, careless, dismissive, possessive bastard once Greg had been effectively tied to him. And moved him away from the city into his hometown where he had old school friends and family and Greg knew no one. Greg kept hoping Eric would have an affair so he might stop bothering him for a while and possibly even leave him. Fat chance. Eric was incredibly jealous and possessive and probably wouldn’t even consider trying to court another omega, whilst Greg felt no huge possessive pull back towards him, likely due to Eric not letting Greg bite him back. Eric didn’t smell like Greg, no hint of his scent. For Greg it was like he wasn’t even –

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a car horn from a saloon that had just pulled alongside the sidewalk. He peered out of his hood carefully, holding onto his backpack shoulder straps nervously. Sometimes people did this, it was a small community and most people knew who he was – or _whose_ he was, anyway. But he always had to be careful, he’d read horror stories about omegas being bundled into cars.

The window wound down and Stuart squinted out at him. “You need a lift?”

“Oh…” Eric wouldn’t like that, wouldn’t want him in a car with another alpha. “That’s fine Stu, it’s not that far and-“

“You’ll catch your death, it’s freezing. Get in.”

Greg glanced nervously at the pristine leather seats. “I’ll wreck your upholstery, Stu, really, I can walk.”

“Get in, soggy little monster.”

Greg rolled his eyes and scrabbled into the car, fastening the seat belt and then pulling his sleeves back from his hands, rubbing them to try to get some warmth back into them. Stuart watched him for a moment and then switched the heater on.

“Why were you walking?”

Greg shrugged. “I don’t have a car.”

“I know, but I thought Eric would pick you up in weather like this.”

Greg snorted softly, then threw a guilty look at Stuart. It was one thing to complain about Eric to himself, a totally different thing to do it in front of anyone else. “Uh. Yeah, he must just be busy.”

“Too busy to take ten minutes to pick you up?”

Stuart sounded disapproving. Greg shrugged. “He might still be in Augusta.”

They passed the next ten minutes discussing their current cases and the animals that would be coming in the following day. Stuart was midway through complaining about a cat that appeared to want to claw out his eyeballs every time he tried to treat it when his voice stopped abruptly, seeing the police cruiser parked outside the property. Eric had bought a large wood-cladded house, painted deep green and set back from the road, the front dominated by a large porch. The closest house was a good 50 yards away. The police cruiser was undeniably outside the property.

“Is everything okay?”

Greg peered closer. “Oh. It’s fine… the lights aren’t on. That’ll be Gareth.”

“Gareth?”

“Y’know. The Sheriff? He went to school with Eric. He’s probably over for beers or something.”

Great. Another evening of listening to them share high school football stories whilst Gareth stared at Greg, getting increasingly drunk before loudly asking Eric how it felt to fuck an omega.

He’d have to bring them beers as well. Ugh. He hated how Eric smelt when he drank beer, hated it on his breath when he kissed him, whether Greg wanted it or not. Eric used to drink wine, knew Greg liked wine, but when he was with his school buddies he always acted differently.

“Thanks Stu.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to wait? What if there’s something wrong?”

Greg shook his head. “Really, he’s here a lot. It’s fine. Thanks for checking though.”

He smiled at Stuart and their eyes met briefly. Greg tried to ignore the swooping feeling in his stomach and gave a quick “see ya tomorrow” and hopped out the car, jogging through the heavy rain back into the house.

The large open plan living area meant Eric and Gareth immediately saw Greg damply walk in.

“Hey babe. Did your boss just give you a lift?”

Greg nodded, sliding his backpack off and shivering. He wanted a bath, he wanted to go lie in a hot bath and have a glass of wine and pretend there weren’t two men in their mid-forties getting drunk on cheap beer and reliving their sad glory days of having sex with cheerleaders downstairs.

“Yeah, it was raining so he offered.”

“You should have called me. I’d have given you a lift.”

“You know when I finish, it’s the same every day,” Greg pointed out, before realizing that could sound like a criticism. Eric hated being criticized, particularly in front of anyone else. “And I was planning on walking anyway.”

He eyed the row of empty beer bottles on the kitchen counter dubiously. Like Eric could have driven anyway.

“Yeah, well, I’ve been busy anyway, babe. Sealed a great deal today, got an import of machinery from Afghanistan at an absolute bargain price. We’ll go out for steak soon.”

Greg preferred seafood. It was Maine, for God’s sake, it had the best lobster in the damn world. Eric just liked to update his social media to show photos of himself and his younger, omega husband in expensive restaurants.

“Isn’t Afghanistan a weird place to buy machinery from?” Greg frowned.

“Thinking outside of the box. Your alpha is a shrewd businessman,” Gareth smirked at him. Greg tried not to pay attention to how Gareth looked at him, the way his gaze lingered on him longer than felt right. Not welcome, not welcome _at all_.

Eric’s business did something with engines. Greg didn’t exactly understand what the engines went in, they were bigger than car engines and Eric usually told him not to trouble himself with it when he tried to ask about it. Greg was a naturally curious person and didn’t take hugely well to the implication from Eric that machinery would somehow bemuse him. He understood how a horse’s aorta worked, he was relatively certain a big engine wouldn’t bamboozle him.

“I’m going to have a bath,” he said, struggling out of his wet blazer with absolutely no assistance from Eric. Once upon a time he’d have taken his coat for him.

“Hurry up, babe, we thought we’d watch a movie tonight.”

“Well, start without me.” It would just be some war movie or something anyway. Or some crude comedy with skimpily dressed omegas.

“Wouldn’t do that, babe.”

Greg narrowed his eyes, dragging his hoodie off, ignoring Gareth staring where his shirt was clinging to him from the rain and kicked off his wet sneakers. Great. Hurry through something that you want to do, your only goddamn time to yourself, to come sit and do something unutterably tedious with you and your friend.

The hot water felt amazing as Greg submerged himself into it, enjoying the chill eking out of his body. He closed his eyes and bit his lip before looking at his cellphone. This was stupid. Why was he doing this?

He looked at the result of his Google search. “Pisces and Taurus relationship compatibility: a good match”.

He didn’t believe in this shit. He scoffed slightly, shutting his cell off and rolling his eyes. What was wrong with him?

He looked down at the water and sighed. He could just sink into this. Sink and wait, allow the water to fill his lungs, allow the heavy, slow, depths to take him. Drowning was supposed to be one of the best ways, wasn’t it?

When had it come to this? When had his life become so empty and meaningless that he read bullshit horoscopes about his romantic compatibility with his boss and fantasized about committing suicide? When… when had he started to dream idle dreams of a quiet death in his gilded cage?

Why couldn’t he _feel_ anything any more? Why was everything so… so gray all the time? Why couldn’t he just stop this? He could leave. Eric hadn’t had to pay a dowry for him (another shrewd business move), Greg could technically file for divorce. It would be difficult, but he could do it. Could just leave, he wasn’t a dominant omega, he could just walk out tomorrow and not come back.

But there was a sense of duty. He had loved Eric once and told himself he still did. And he’d got no one. He hadn’t even noticed that Eric had systematically removed his friends from his life, quietly telling a young, impressionable Greg that a certain friend was bad news and another was going to get him in trouble if he hung out with him. And Greg had _believed_ him, had thought he was looking out for him. And the friends… well, they hadn’t tried to re-establish any contact. So clearly they hadn’t cared. Nobody cared, that was clear. People just weren’t worth trusting, they just let you down. So the only people he hung out with socially were first and foremost Eric’s friends.

And bond partners leaving for no apparent reason was essentially taboo. Sure, if Eric had cheated on him or beat him up. But not this… horrible, insidious isolation and quiet mental anguish he caused. How could you prove that? Worse, Eric usually wound Greg up before they went out together if a lot of his friends were at an event. Greg usually arrived in a bad mood – Eric always knew exactly what to say to make him feel frustrated and miserable – and then Eric would usually say something during the night to trigger some sort of angry response. Then he’d look innocent and slightly bemused when Greg snapped at him or growled or, on one occasion that made Greg cringe still, kicked him in the shin and swore at him. Everyone thought Eric was some sort of saint who’d married some bitchy, complaining omega. Any suggestion that Eric wasn’t some sort of indulgent guy whose only real fault was going for a younger, slightly hysterical guy (and omegas were all hysterical, right?) would be met with disbelief and claims that Greg was lying.

Greg pulled himself out of the bath, trying to make the thoughts drain away with the hot water, trying to make the miserable, empty sensation leave him, tried to exorcise it. It didn’t work, the ghost staying wrapped around him, squeezing his heart and choking him.

*****

“Don’t get a lift with your boss again.”

Greg glanced over from reading his copy of ‘The Scarlet Letter’ in bed, curled up in the cashmere loungewear that Eric insisted he wear about the house. “Huh?”

“Don’t do that, it’s rude. And why are you reading that again?”

Eric pulled the book out of his hands, leafing through it with a look of disdain on his face. “Why are you rereading this shit again? Read something written this century, for God’s sake.”

“You just lost my place. And right, because as a society we’ve progressed so much since then.”

Eric rolled his eyes. “Don’t start that, babe. Not in the mood. And I said not to get a lift with your boss again.”

“Why not? It was raining and-“

“Because he’s an _alpha_. What will people think?”

“That he’s my boss and it’s raining?”

“They’ll think he’s after something.”

“If you’re worried about _that_ then stop having Gareth over. He stares at me. It’s creepy.”

“He’s just not used to omegas.”

“He’s been around me for years. He’s always done it. It’s always been creepy.”

Eric scoffed. “Creepy, huh? Shall I tell him that?”

Greg tried to get his book back, with Eric moving it out of his reach and pushing him back onto the bed. It wasn’t violent, but wasn’t exactly gentle either. “No, don’t tell him that. I doubt he’ll take it well.” Eric might well do it as well, just to make Greg feel even more uncomfortable.

Eric’s hands were moving under the soft cashmere, loosening the waistband of his pants and tugging at them. Greg glanced down and shuddered involuntarily. “Don’t take them off, I’m still cold, I’ve not warmed up properly.”

“It wasn’t raining that much, Greg.”

“I’m _cold_.”

He shoved Eric’s hands off and scrambled back under the covers, trying to drag himself away from the stale smell of beer on Eric’s breath and back into the warmth he’d been happily reclining in a few minutes ago and reading about fictitious social stigmatism and being briefly, wonderfully unaware of his own situation.

“Alright I get it, you’re cold.” Eric got into bed next to him and pulled him against his chest. “I know what’ll warm you up.”

Greg resigned himself to it. It was normally pretty quick and Eric usually fell asleep afterwards. Maybe he’d be able to get the book back and lose himself again, away from the bleakness and emptiness and helplessness.

*****

He sat in the dark, clutching his knees to his chest, staring at the sleeping mass next to him, trying to make some feeling spark, make something work. _Something_. Love. Hate. Fury. Rage. Anything but this crushed, deadened feeling.

Nothing happened. He remained feeling like some sort of emotional husk, crumbling and terminally drifting away in the wind.

*****

“You smell sad.”

Greg paused, holding the vengeful feline down that appeared determined to eviscerate Stuart. “Huh?”

“Are you alright? Just you seem… well, you’re usually a bit sarcastic and snarky, but not sad. Is something wrong?”

Greg looked down, no idea what to say. That he wasn’t sad, that being sad required the ability to feel something.

“I’m not sad.”

He stroked the cat’s ears softly and then released some relaxing pheromones. The cat purred softly and settled down against his hands.

“Sure, you’re not sad. You just used pheromones on an animal, you realize how weird that is?”

“It worked, right?”

“When did anyone last do that for you?”

Greg snapped his gaze up to look into Stuart’s brown, concerned eyes. They looked kind.

“What?”

“When did anyone last do that for you? You’re… look, Greg, I don’t want to say anything out of order, but you’re pretty clearly depressed. I know that happens with omegas when they’re anxious and worried and they internalize the pheromones. You need to get Eric to release some comforting pheromones and get it-“

Greg couldn’t help it and laughed hollowly. “Eric doesn’t do that. He thinks that’s what omegas are for.”

Stuart stared at him a moment longer. “What’s the problem?”

“Oh… nothing’s wrong. I’m just completely isolated and living with a guy who doesn’t love me and just views me as a trophy and some sort of sex relief and systematically destroyed my life and belittles me so I’ve got no other option than to stay. And everything feels meaningless and pointless and empty and he won’t even let me have a dog and I want a dog, then at least I’d have a _friend-_ “

Greg slammed his mouth shut and then looked at Stuart in horror when he realized that he’d accidentally verbalized those dark, morbid internal thoughts. Then he shook his head, backing off and trying to smile. “Joking. Obviously. I’m just a bit moody because-“

He stopped and shuddered when, unexpectedly, Stuart released a wave of soothing pheromones. “Please… Stu, don’t do that… I can’t deal with that, please, and you’re dominant, I… it’s too strong, I can’t think…”

“Sorry. I thought it’d help.”

Greg struggled to breathe again and shook his head. “Look, forget I said that, alright? It’s… it’s not important.”

“Do you want to get a drink?”

Greg frowned. “What?”

“Do you want to get a drink? And talk about it?”

Greg wasn’t an idiot. He knew what ‘getting a drink and talking about it’ meant.

“That’s really kind, but no thanks.”

He ignored that he’d briefly felt alive, felt less empty, felt comforted.

Felt _connected_.

*****

It was raining again. And, of course, Eric’s car was nowhere in sight.

Greg sighed, checking the cages were closed at the back and then shutting off the lights, hearing the animals settling back down to sleep as he did so. He gazed back at them for a moment in the half light caused by the open door, watching their eyes gleam as they gazed back at him.

Caged animals, kept because they were cute and filled some need in people. Maybe for love, but maybe to just have something living to own. To possess. To control.

“Do you need a lift?”

He jumped and glanced back at Stuart.

“No thanks. It’s fine.”

“It’s no trouble, it’s on my way home anyway. And you aren’t even damp this time so I wouldn’t have to dry off the seat or anything. After having a little sea monster sat there.”

Greg thought about Eric’s demand that he not get a lift with Stuart. The anger in his eyes, carefully hidden but lurking just under the surface. The unspoken accusation.

“Really, it’s fine.”

“But it’s raining pretty heavi-“

“It’s _fine_ Stu, no thanks.”

He’d snapped it and stalked out, already flinching at how unfriendly and ungrateful he’d just come across as. Because he _wanted_ to say yes. He _wanted_ to not get rained on and he _wanted_ that simmering tension, wanted that look in Stuart’s eyes sometimes. Wanted… wanted the possibilities. Even if it was just to daydream that they could happen, imagine the feel of Stuart’s lips pressed against his, the leather of the back seat against his naked flesh, heating up from his body heat.

But he couldn’t even daydream. And he was ashamed to have to say to Stuart that he couldn’t get a lift because he’d been _forbidden_. Like he was a child.

And now he was just getting rained on and Stuart clearly thought he was an unpleasant little ingrate. Someone else pushed away. Someone else he’d isolated himself from. Eric didn’t even need to do it any more, Greg did it for him.

About five minutes later he noticed, to his shock, that the water dripping down his face wasn’t the rain. He blinked and lifted his face up, letting the falling water wash away the tears.

*****

“I told you not to get a lift with your boss.”

Greg frowned at Eric, dripping onto the welcome mat.

“I didn’t. What, you think I got a lift and then jumped into a swimming pool or something?”

“ _Don’t talk to me like that_.”

Eric was glowering at Greg. He backed up slightly, his frown deepening. Eric didn’t usually look at him like that, didn’t usually visibly become angry and annoyed. His skill was in undermining and pushing all of Greg’s buttons. He’d never hit Greg or been violent with him, barely ever even raised his voice. Most of what he did could be defended as teasing.

“I didn’t get a lift with Stuart. I walked. Hence being soaked.”

“You smell like him.”

“Well, I do work with him. It’ll probably happen sometimes.”

Eric continued to stare at Greg accusingly. Greg resisted the urge to snarl back that he _could_ have done what Eric didn’t want him to and he didn’t. He’d been a good little omega and Eric should back the hell off.

Something was wrong. This wasn’t usual.

“Are you alright?”

Eric snorted. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You… you smell stressed. Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Greg,” Eric spat it out, like the idea of admitting anything otherwise left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Oh… okay. I’m just going to have a bath.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

Greg frowned at him again, then squelched up the stairs. Eric returned to staring hopelessly at the report on his laptop screen.

He’d made a bad investment.

The shipment of machinery parts had been seized at the border. The shipping container had been full of cocaine. The damn narcs were crawling _all over_ him.

He’d been careful. There’d been nothing written down that could have shown that he was aware of it. He was relatively sure of that.

But even if they couldn’t connect him to the drugs… there’d be significant financial damage.

He growled, dragging a hand through his lightly graying hair.

_Ignore it. Ignore it. Focus on the real issue. That little whore’s been cheating._

He glanced up at the sound of the bath running. Who showered as soon as they got home? Cheaters did. To wash away the guilt and the shame.

How was he supposed to concentrate on making good business deals with shit like that on his mind? It was Greg’s fault. He’d messed up and caused this. Did he think Eric didn’t notice that he was more interested in his stupid books than his alpha? That he didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic about sex any more? He was obviously getting it somewhere else. It wasn’t anything to do with any issue with Eric. It was an issue with _Greg_. And obviously that was causing other issues in Eric’s life. A domino effect. He couldn’t make good business deals with this on his mind.

Eric ignored that he’d made the terrible, unethical business deal before he’d suspected anything, pretended that Greg’s ‘affair’ was something he’d been aware of for a while, rather than something his increasingly desperate mind had concocted as an excuse for his failure.

He’d seen the little bitch’s cellphone. Looking at horoscopes. Stupid omega bullshit. Eric wasn’t Taurus, he was Gemini.

That was proof. It was _proof_.

It was all Greg’s fault.

*****

Over the next couple of weeks Greg became increasingly concerned about Eric’s behavior. He’d gone from mildly implying that Greg was cheating on him to full-out accusing him of it. Greg seemed to spend every waking moment at home defending himself.

Eric demanded to see his cellphone messages. Kept asking him where he’d been. Kept asking him what he was _thinking_ , which always resulted in Greg either realizing he’d been thinking something utterly ridiculous (usually dog focused), immediately forgetting whatever he had been thinking about or truthfully replying that he’d been thinking about nothing. Eric generally didn’t appear convinced that his husband had been sat on the sofa staring blankly at nothing and not thinking anything. It worried Greg that it kept highlighting that he so often sat around numbly.

Greg put up with it, although it was pushing him away even more. Stuart went from a slightly bored fantasy to seeming ridiculously desirable. His love of animals, how interested he was in Greg’s opinions, even his stupid affectionate “little monster” nicknames (something Greg usually found annoying, but at least it wasn’t _babe_ ) started to convince Greg that Stuart was just like him.

Like an alpha version of him.

He tried to ignore it. Tried to ignore that Stuart had started to make a point of reading the same books Greg mentioned to discuss with him. Tried to ignore the little voice in his head, whispering to him that Stuart cared so much that he did that for him. He was just humoring him. Like Eric did when he met him. It didn’t mean anything, it was alpha show boating. And totally inappropriate, since Stuart knew Greg was bonded.

_But what if he wasn’t?_

Greg ignored it. He wasn’t naïve. He wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t fall for that shit. That wasn’t him. So he said no to any suggestions of a lift or grabbing lunch or a drink after work.

But it hurt. It hurt that he _could_ have been doing exactly what Eric was accusing him of. And he was resisting it, even though Eric’s behavior made him want to do it.

Worse, Eric started to pick up on something that had been a bone of contention from early in their relationship. Greg had been sat by the fire on the sheepskin rug reading and drinking a glass of Sauvignon Blanc when Eric spoke out of the blue:

“You know how much it bothers me that you weren’t a virgin?”

Greg blinked at the book and then glanced up. “I was 24 when you met me. I’d have been a pretty unusual teenager and young adult if I’d never slept with anyone. And you weren’t a virgin either.”

Eric snorted. “I’m an alpha. I’m expected to be experienced. And I’m older than you.”

Greg lifted his eyebrows. “Well, who are alphas supposed to get the experience with if omegas are supposed to save themselves or whatever?”

“Yes, but you didn’t just sleep with alphas, did you babe?”

Greg sighed. “It happened, Eric. I can’t change that. I wasn’t exactly a slut, I’ve slept with 5 people.”

“It just bothers me, you know? The idea of someone… some faceless bastard fucking you…”

“They had faces,” Greg said mildly. “And only three of them were guys. Including you.”

“I still don’t get that. You’re… you’re so cute. What sort of woman wants to have sex with someone who looks like you?”

“Thanks.”

“What? That’s a compliment.”

Greg sighed again and put his book down, glancing up at Eric from the fireside, the warm light flickering over his skin and pulling reddish highlights out of his blond hair. “It’s not a compliment, Eric. Why are you going over this again? You know it can’t be changed and it just pisses you off when you think about it.”

Eric took a swig of the wine and, uncharacteristically, got down onto the rug with Greg, who gave him a wary look. “What’re you-“

Eric took the book out of his hands and hurled it into the fire. Greg blinked, watching the pages catch and curl, exhaling ash out onto him. His grasp tightened slightly on the stem of his wine glass and he looked at Eric carefully.

“I’m not _doing_ anything, Eric. I don’t know what’s happened and why you’re being like this but really, I’m _not_ doing anything. I’ve never cheated on you. Please stop this.”

Eric pushed him over onto the rug, the wine glass falling over and spilling the wine into the thick fleece. Greg felt Eric’s teeth against the bond scar on his neck and froze in place.

“Don’t you dare tell me what to do,” Eric growled. “And I’m going to damn well remind you who you belong to.”

*****

The next day, when Stuart asked Greg if he wanted to grab some lunch he was surprised when Greg agreed. Greg figured that if he was going to be punished then he may as well do the crime.

After they’d picked up packaged sandwiches from the nearby seven eleven they went and sat by the river that ran through the town, on the bench behind the practice. Stuart gave Greg a sideways glance.

“What’s wrong?”

Greg shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about it. He was worried that he might cry if he did. Greg didn’t cry. He wasn’t a crier.

“Is it something at home?”

He shrugged again and wondered how long it would take Stuart to realize that he was terrible company and to stop this and leave him sat there and staring despondently into the river.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He sounded hoarse and unfriendly, making him flinch.

“Is… is he hurting you?”

He turned to angrily defend Eric and then stopped, seeing the concern on Stuart’s face. He thought about the burning pages floating in the hot draft from the fire, his head hitting the floor as Eric shoved him over, the horrible, constant wariness.

“Not badly.”

It somehow was both not descriptive enough for how awful Eric was being and too damning.

“He shouldn’t treat you like that. He should be looking after you.”

“I think that’s what he thinks he’s doing.”

“You should have someone who takes care of you.” Stuart paused. “I’d take care of you.”

Greg glanced at him sideways, at the gentle expression on Stuart’s face. For once he let himself believe it and dropped the defenses he’d spent years building up.

When Stuart leant over and softly kissed him he responded.

*****

The sex was… amazing.

Greg didn’t know if it was genuinely that good or whether he’d been so starved of affection that it just felt that way. But he’d orgasmed for the first time in what felt like years during sex, his legs wrapped around Stuart’s waist as he took him in the back of his car, parked in shaded woodland. It should have been cold, but he’d felt warm and happy and _alive_. The constant chill seemed to finally be gone.

Afterwards Stuart held him closely and nuzzled his hair.

“Did you enjoy that, little monster?”

Greg laughed softly. “Yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean to come all over the back seat.”

“I thought… I thought bonded omegas couldn’t have sex with other alphas?”

Greg frowned. “I think generally we have negative reactions to it. But… but I think the bond stopped a while ago. I don’t smell of Eric any more. They can sort of… peter out if the couple loses the connection. Not that Eric would admit to that. And he never smelt of me, so I’m not sure I ever felt fully bonded to him to start with.”

“Ah.”

“If you thought that then… why did you..?”

Stuart shrugged. “Scientific curiosity.”

Greg felt a stab of worry at that. He didn’t know what he’d been hoping Stuart would say (love? Affection? Desire?) but it definitely wasn’t that response. Stuart apparently noticed and smiled at him.

“You’re so sweet, you know that? You’re really special to me, Greg.”

Greg let himself believe it.

*****

He felt physically sick afterwards. He’d walked home from the woods and felt guilty relief at seeing Eric was out. He scrubbed off all evidence and then sat and stared into the fire.

The brief spell of euphoria had dropped off and now he felt terrible.

He wasn’t a cheater. He _wasn’t_. And really, was it excusable to do that because of how Eric had been acting? If a relationship wasn’t working then you should discuss it and, if there was no solution, end it. Not screw someone else.

Greg was disgusted with himself. He’d betrayed Eric. He was _that_ sort of person.

He only saw two options that were acceptable. He could either confess to Eric, explain what had happened and why and see if Eric was willing to continue. Or he could end things. Those were the only two decent options.

Telling Eric would hurt him. And really, did Greg want to continue the relationship? It was already not working and he’d just kicked the shit out of it. Surely his actions showed that he didn’t want to continue it?

He didn’t allow himself to listen to the quiet voice that whispered that Eric would really hurt him if he confessed. Punch him. Break bones. Maybe worse.

*****

Eric arrived back home at ten. Unlike his expectations of Greg, he didn’t explain where he’d been or why he’d been late. Greg assumed he’d been working. In reality he’d been having some increasingly fraught interviews with the drug squad. Eric was extremely concerned.

“Eric?”

His omega looked young and sweet and adorable, slight and fair. “Hey babe.”

“I… I need to talk to you.”

“Is it about a dog again, Greg? I told you, I don’t like them, they smell and-“

“This isn’t working, Eric.”

Greg was wringing his hands nervously, but looking completely serious. Eric frowned at him. “What isn’t?”

“ _This_. You and me. Us. It’s not working, Eric. It hasn’t been for a while.”

Eric felt a sense of crushing despair. Not only was his goddamn business failing, his damn omega thought he was a loser as well. He ignored the truth in Greg’s statement and waved a dismissive hand.

“We’re fine.”

“No we’re _not_ Eric. I can’t do this any more.”

Eric walked over to Greg slowly. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing. It’s just… just I can’t do it any more. It’s better for both of us to-“

To Greg’s horror Eric started to sob.

“Eric?”

“I love you.”

Greg knew it wasn’t true, although maybe Eric thought he did. Eric loved the idea of Greg, not Greg himself.

“Please… Eric… it’s just…”

“You can have the goddamn dog, Greg, just stay, you can’t… I can’t…”

“No, I can’t stay, this is making me miserable, can’t you see that? Can’t you _smell_ that?”

Eric collapsed onto the couch and began to cry horribly loudly into his hands. Greg felt a deeper stab of guilt and went and sat next to him, placing a hand gently onto his arm.

“Eric, please, I know this is a shock but I-“

“Please stay tonight. _Please_. Let me lie next to you and fall asleep with you. _Please_ , Greg. I need you tonight.”

Against his better judgement, Greg agreed, going to bed with Eric, trying to hold him and comfort him. And when Eric inevitably slid his hands under Greg’s clothes and whispered to him “please, one more time, let me be with you one more time” and ignored Greg’s “no, I don’t want to, stop Eric”, Greg didn’t scream or struggle. He just whispered no and when that was ignored he closed his eyes and told himself he deserved it. This was his punishment.

He imagined Stuart and then even felt guilty about that, like he was somehow tainting Stuart with this unpleasant situation.

*****

Greg awoke abruptly at 0300 and froze. Eric was staring at him while he slept. It wasn’t in an affectionate way.

His brain felt both horribly sluggish and like it had been submerged in freezing water.

“I know what you’ve been doing.”

Greg stayed frozen and very carefully moved his eyes to look over at Eric. He couldn’t move too suddenly. He had to breathe shallowly. He understood – deeply and intrinsically – that he was in mortal danger.

Eric was going to kill him. In his bed. With his bare hands. And – worse – that Greg would let him. Wouldn’t even fight back.

Greg’s heart was hammering and he knew the only thing that stood between him and being choked to death was his ability to explain. To defend himself.

_To lie. To lie about what you’ve been doing, you filthy little whore._

He deserved it.

“What do you mean?”

He was shocked that his voice was steady. Eric stared at him blearily. “You’ve been fucking someone else. I know it. That’s why you’re ending things.”

“I haven’t,” Greg lied.

“I saw your cell.”

Greg frowned. “What?”

“Your cell. You searched a horoscope for you and Taurus. I didn’t even think you believed in that shit, Greg.”

Greg forced a laugh, even as chills ran over him. “I don’t, Eric. You know me, I walk under ladders all the time.”

“Then why did you search that?”

“It was a joke. Someone at work made a joke about a match with me. I searched it to laugh at whatever bullshit it said, it was… it was a silly joke, Eric. Do you _really_ think I’m the sort of person who looks at stuff like that seriously?”

“No… I guess not…”

“Exactly.” Greg was still frozen in place, still more terrified than he’d ever been in his life.

“I’m going for a walk.”

Eric staggered out of bed and paused at the door. “I’ll sleep on the couch when I get back.”

When he’d gone, Greg wedged the door shut with a chair and sobbed silently from terror into the pillow.

*****

He wasn’t safe. He wasn’t safe, he wasn’t safe, he couldn’t stay here. Not one more day, not one more hour, not one more minute. Eric was going to kill him.

He knew it with a certainty that was bone-deep and dreadful.

Technically Eric had raped him. He’d said no and Eric had carried on anyway. No, he hadn’t screamed and cried, hadn’t fought tooth and nail… but it was still rape. Right?

He thought of the likely questions around that. About why he hadn’t. The accusations; “if you _really_ didn’t want it then why didn’t you fight back? Why didn’t you badly hurt yourself to stop it? How much did it hurt? There wasn’t any blood, right? It wasn’t some stranger dragging you off in the dark, it was your partner having sex with you in your bed. How is that any different from the other times you didn’t really want sex and had it anyway?”

He dragged a hand through his hair. Nobody ever asked someone who’d been mugged why they hadn’t screamed and shouted and put themselves in even more danger by fighting back. Nobody ever made the victims of robbery feel like they’d brought it upon themselves by not having enough locks installed. Nobody ever told the asked the families of murder victims whether the deceased hadn’t actually wanted it.

Nobody _doubted_ and _blamed_ the victim in most crimes. Or expected the victim to produce the evidence somehow. Or… or judged them for not crying. Or crying too much. Or… or…

He shook his head. Eric had gone out, he’d heard the door slam at 0700 that morning, still sat in bed, arms wrapped around his knees and shaking, staring flatly at the door, his heart hammering.

He wasn’t this. He wasn’t some pathetic, whimpering _victim_. Not him. No way.

Greg kept telling himself that, through showering and dressing, carefully selecting the clothes that weren’t revealing, that made him somber and serious. Kept it up as he walked, automatically going to where he believed there was justice. Where he’d been brought up to believe the good guys were.

Gareth stared at him blankly. “What?”

“You… you need to help me. Please.”

Gareth glanced around at the surrounding officers and then grabbed Greg’s arm and dragged him into a nearby interview suite.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s _Eric_ , Gareth, he’s… he’s having some sort of mental breakdown or something.”

“What’s wrong? Is he hurt?”

Greg blinked. “No… no, Gareth, he’s not hurt. But something’s wrong and I’m scared of him.”

“You’re scared of him?”

Greg nodded desperately, trying to make Gareth understand. “He… I think he’s going to kill me, Gareth.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Look, things aren’t going well. I said that to him last night and he didn’t take it well.”

“Well, what do you expect if you say something like that to your alpha?”

Greg’s mouth fell open and then he snapped it shut. “What, so because I say the truth he should be allowed to _hurt_ me, there’s nothing in the law about alphas being allowed to-“

“Stop being hysterical, Greg.”

“I’m _not_ hysterical, I’m-“

“Geez, how does Eric put up with your histrionics? Honestly, why are you making such a big deal about a marital dispute? Just cook him a nice dinner and treat him better than you usually do and he’ll calm down.”

“ _What_?”

“I genuinely have no idea why he humors you.”

“ _Humors_ me?” Greg stared at Gareth furiously. “He _raped_ me last night, don’t you dare-“

“ _Shut up_. I’m tired of your shit, stop making stuff up about a decent guy who only ever tried to look after your stupid, ungrateful ass.”

Greg felt like he’d been punched. He knew Gareth didn’t particularly like him, knew he looked down on him, would think better of Eric than him. But he was a police officer, he was the Sheriff, surely it was his duty to look into any allegation like that? Not to completely discount it?

“I’m not making up anything, I’m telling-“

“Get out. I’m not listening to this fabricated bullshit any more. And don’t repeat your poisonous lies to any of my officers, you hear me?”

*****

It was raining again. He stared up at the sky and tried not to scream. Tried not to let the overwhelming panic he felt clawing at the edges of his mind in, tried to block it, to think logically.

He shouldn’t have gone to Gareth. He wasn’t a normal police officer. He should have said it to any of the others, ones without vested interests.

But he’d been ashamed and wanted to speak to someone he knew. Even if he didn’t even really like that person much. He’d wanted that familiarity and now…

He was trudging through the High Street, wishing he still had friends. Someone to run to. Someone who’d believe him no matter what. Who’d keep him safe and not expect anything in return.

 _Why_ had he let his friends drift away? Sure, it had hurt that they hadn’t reached out to him, but he was the one who had started the drifting. So, what, because they hadn’t all desperately been reaching out for him all the time they somehow hadn’t deserved his time? How arrogant was he that he thought other people should put all the effort in? Did he really think he was that special? That worthy?

Why was he so stupid? Why had he let Eric do that, why hadn’t he been braver, been stronger? Why had he quietly allowed himself to drift into this? He’d never had much direction in his life, just going along with what others wanted. Trying to quietly please people, to not have too much attention, to not stand out, to be… “nice”. And, as a result, he was pretty sure he was anything but nice now, a bitter, miserable person who refused to reach out to others or be vulnerable, too jaded.

His thoughts were interrupted as he walked past the local diner and saw… saw… oh, thank God.

Greg hurried in and sat opposite Stuart, who looked up at him in surprise and then looked around shiftily.

“Hey Greg. What’re you doing here?”

“Stu, I need your help.”

“What’s up?” He said it like he was expecting Greg to ask to borrow his lawn mower or something.

“I… I… Look, I broke up with Eric last night.”

“Oh. Because of what happened?”

“Er. Yeah. Sort of. Well, because doing that sort of showed me that it really wasn’t working.”

“Oh. That’s quite sudden, isn’t it? Pretty snap decision.”

Greg frowned at him. “You know what’s been going on, you kept asking about it. You know it’s not a snap decision.”

“Kinda sounds like one to me, little monster. But what’s up?”

“Eric… didn’t take it very well.”

“I’d have guessed.” A look of worry ran across Stuart’s face. “You didn’t tell him about me, right?”

“No.” Greg’s frown deepened. “Obviously not, I didn’t want to hurt him.”

Stuart scoffed slightly. “You tell yourself that.”

Greg stared at him, confused, not recognizing the cruel expression on Stuart’s face. “I… I’m not. I _don’t_ want to hurt him. But… he’s acting weird, Stu.”

“If you break up with someone they do sometimes act like that.”

Greg didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want Stuart to judge him. But he didn’t seem to be understanding, so Greg forced out: “I’m scared of him.”

Stuart shrugged. “Well, he’ll be pissed, that’s understandable. Just let him calm down and-“

“Stu, you don’t understand. He’s going to _kill_ me.”

Stuart stared at him blankly. “Look, I didn’t sign up for responsibility for some omega-“

“I’m not asking you to. Just… just I’ve got nowhere to go. Can I stay with-“

“No, look, there’s no room and it’d just be too difficult to explain to anyone.”

Greg looked at him in horror. “But you _said_ -“

“Oh, come on Greg. I was trying to have sex, you can’t hold me to everything I said trying to get you into bed.”

Greg blinked. “What?”

“And did you have to do this in public? People’ll think I’m gay.”

“What? You had sex with a male omega, that doesn’t mean-“

“For God’s sake, be quiet.”

Stuart snarled it at Greg, who immediately shut up, looking horrified. He stared back at him, suddenly realizing that… that Stuart didn’t care. That he _really_ didn’t care. And that Greg had hopelessly, completely misjudged him. Because he was so desperate to find some sort of meaningful connection, something to make his life feel less empty and painful. So desperate he’d manufactured it, he’d believed his own bullshit and read Stuart’s motivations as being more than just sex. And believed him when he said what he knew Greg wanted to hear.

Somehow the fact that he’d been so stupid as to believe Stuart was more painful that Stuart had lied to begin with.

He was suddenly, horribly alone again. He stared back at Stuart for a moment, seeing the snarl twisting his handsome features into an ugly mask and felt a spike of hatred. It was one thing to be awful to your bond partner, to treat them like shit. It was another to be aware of someone in such a shitty situation and take advantage of that.

“I thought you were different,” Greg said softly, coldly. “But you’re not. You made me believe you were different, that _this_ was different. And now I feel like an idiot for believing in you. I think you’re even worse than him.”

He turned and walked out of the café. And, not knowing what else to do, started to walk home, the dread increasing with every yard closer he got.

He didn’t know why he was doing it. There just seemed no other solution and despite the terrible foreboding sensation running through him with every step he kept telling himself over and over again that it was fine. Nothing bad would happen. Ignore that moment last night, that horrifying, immobilizing terror that someone who knew him intimately was about to kill him, that terrible knowledge and certainty that he was inches from death, that was somehow utterly inexplicable and impossible to understand until you suddenly _knew_ that someone you had shared a bed with for years was about to choke the life out of you, that suddenly it was a real, genuine threat, not an occasional idle fancy of gently, quietly ending it all. This had color and fear and pain and the vivid hues of betrayal, splashed like blood across his usually grayscale mindscape.

The place he called home was cold and dark. Eric’s BMW stood outside like a silent sentinel, reflecting the dark windows behind it. Greg blinked, registering how sore and itchy his eyes were, not even noticing that he had been silently crying on his solitary death march.

His hands were steady as he opened the door. The darkness was rich and absorbed all sound as he quietly closed the door, like black velvet. He’d believe that the house was empty from the appearance and the sound, but not the smell. He could smell Eric. Smell the fury. Smell the insanity.

Could smell the Ballistol Eric used to lubricate his pistol.

One heartbeat later he wrenched his head sideways at the same time as the powder ignited, burning the white hot light into his retinas, nearly blinding enough to ignore the sudden agonizing pain as the bullet caught him in the shoulder, where his head had been a second ago.

The force threw him into the air, off his feet and into the door frame. He made no noise, even as the shock and pain were abruptly real and undeniable. He gritted his teeth as he heard Eric drop the pistol whilst he silently slid down the door, feeling the blood welling up and spilling down his shirt, the hot wet mess of it soaking into him and starting to drip onto the floor, pulsing with each heartbeat.

 _He thinks he killed me_.

He screwed his eyes shut and tried not to breathe, tried to confirm that, tried to become small and silent and dead.

There was a heavy tread inexorably coming closer as Eric moved over to inspect the damage, to check on the business investment that he’d decided to terminate after it became unreliable.

Greg suddenly realized that he hadn’t locked the door when he arrived. It was odd, a strange lapse of his usual habits. Which meant that…

Greg Kennedy had never made a violent move in his life. Yes, he was small and lightly built, ethereal almost, but that wasn’t the reason. He abhorred violence and had the highest revulsion for anyone who viewed it as a solution to any problem. It was mindless, it was… unevolved. Uncivilized.

But as soon as Eric realized that he missed there would be violence. Swift, merciless, terminal violence.

So he did what was necessary. As Eric leant over him and softly murmured “such a shame, babe, such a waste” he opened his eyes and slammed his forehead into Eric’s, kicking out with both legs to knock him over, already reaching around to grab the door handle and drag himself to his feet, ignoring the screaming twin pains in his shoulder and head. He darted out of the door, slamming it behind him and running, zig-zagging, frantically pelting away towards the lights at the neighbor’s house, his breath coming in terrified heaves, powered by a huge wave of adrenaline as he waited for the sounds of pursuing footsteps, the death knell of his partner and husband chasing him down to seize him, drag him down and murder him.

 _“Help!_ ” he screamed, his voice high and terrified. “ _Help me, for God’s sake, please, help me!_ ”

He saw lights flicker in the neighbor’s house and the door open, the beta woman ( _Karen, she’s called Karen, we sometimes take tea together and talk about literature_ ) opening the door and looking out, puzzled. And Greg Kennedy, who always claimed everything was fine, who always acted like nothing hurt, who always thought that showing weakness was somehow distasteful, Greg Kennedy, covered in blood and in pain, with haunted, agonized eyes, nearly ran straight into her. She caught him, held him upright, looking horrified at the blood still flowing down his front.

“What’s happened, sweetie?”

“He’s… he’s…” suddenly, horribly, he was lost for words. “He tried to kill me.”

Her face hardened slightly as she stared at him, a look of understanding on her face. She glanced back into the house. “Justin? Get an ambulance here. And the police. And-“

Greg saw a look of horror on her face before she bundled him backwards, behind her, shielding him, holding her arms out to block any attempt by either of them to get around her. “You. You stay the hell away.”

“Get out of my way.”

Greg trembled, trying not to whimper, not to show his fear.

“No.”

There was a click of the safety catch being released. Greg tried to push past her, but she held firm.

“Move, you beta bitch. Or I’ll shoot you.”

“No, Eric. You’re not getting at him. Not while I’m here.”

Greg tried to push her away, wanting to explain. _I don’t matter, but you do, don’t you understand? Me dying feels unavoidable, but not you, why are you doing this? Don’t you know I did something terrible? I deserve this, I’m not_ worth _this, can’t you see that?_ But Karen held firm, a solid bastion between him and the death lapping at his heels.

He peered over Karen’s shoulder to see Eric, white with rage and shaking, pointing the pistol at them both. Eric’s eyes narrowed at seeing Greg and he saw his finger tighten on the trigger as he prepared to fire through Karen’s body and into him. Which was when Karen’s husband, Justin, appeared out of the darkness and swung a spade into the back of Eric’s head, knocking him out.

In a weird mimicry of his husband, Greg collapsed onto his knees, wrapping his arms around himself. And for the first time in years allowed himself to sob out loud, even as he saw the flashing lights of the emergency services against his closed eyelids as Karen held him together.

*****

After the trial Greg left. He could have tried to take half of Eric’s property in the state sanctioned divorce (what was left after the debtors took what they were owed and then some), but he didn’t. All he wanted was to be away from it all. Greg knew he was jaded, knew he was mistrustful and angry. But it made sense to him. Anyone who wasn’t was an idiot.

He had been tempted to stay, but… he didn’t know why. Stuart disgusted him. Visited him once in hospital and asked him “not to tell”, like they were teenagers who had skipped curfew, not an irresponsible jackass who had taken advantage of someone who was incredibly vulnerable. Eric’s friends and family were everywhere. None of them really doubted Eric’s guilt, but still somehow blamed Greg. He’d found “omega whore” spray painted over the house when he was discharged and stared at it blankly until Karen had found him in the rain and brought him into their place.

She was standing next to him at the train station, looking at the board.

“This is so adventurous!”

He smiled. He supposed it was, for her. For him it was just… life. Move on with nothing.

“It’s like a novel.”

“I guess,” he shrugged. “I go where the wind takes me. Or the Amtrak, I guess.”

“Where do you fancy?”

He looked up at the board, stared at the destinations, waited for one to pull him, call to him, draw him in.

He didn’t believe in horoscopes, but… fate? Maybe?

His eyes rested on one and he smiled, shifting his backpack against his spine and then grinned at her, the first genuine grin in what felt like years.

“California.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie - writing this one hurt.


	6. Max's Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Alcohol abuse, drug abuse, implied unbalanced relationship
> 
> Incidentally, this is the closest that you'll likely ever see to a RumCove 'rom com'. I find this easily the least 'horrible' of all of these stories.

My Fellow Omegas

**Max’s Story**

**By RumCove**

Disclaimer: These chapters relate to OCs that I wrote for my Scrubs fanfiction, My Unorthodox Treatment. All OCs belong to me, whilst any occasional Scrubs characters belong to Bill Lawrence and NBC/ABC/Doozer Productions etc.

“Junkies on a High” by Green Day:

_My mama said to me_   
_"You're gonna have your enemies"_   
_"Don't beg, don't follow"_   
_I've heard it all before_   
_I smashed my fingers in the door_   
_My downward spiral, oh yeah_

_Rock 'n' roll tragedy_   
_I think the next one could be me_   
_Heaven's my rival_   
_I sing in revelry_   
_I got my own conspiracies_   
_What hides in shadows? Oh yeah_

_Junkies on a high_   
_Get back, lay down, go low_   
_Subdivision smile_   
_Drink it in, dumb it down, suck it up_

_As we watch the world burn_   
_As we watch the world burn_

_I'm not a soldier, this ain't no new world order_   
_My path don't follow_   
_My name is nobody_   
_My pride is my pornography_   
_Kool-aid's my motto, "Oh yeah!"_

_Junkies on a high_   
_Get back, lay down, go low_   
_Subdivision smile_   
_Drink it in, dumb it down, suck it up_

_As we watch the world burn (junkies on a high)_   
_As we watch the world burn (junkies on a high)_   
_Oh yeah, burn (junkies on a high)_   
_As we watch the world burn (junkies on a high)_   
_Oh yeah_

*Four years before the beginning of “My Unorthodox Treatment”*

Maximillian Warren rolled over in bed and grunted softly, raising an arm to block out the sunlight filtering through the shutters.

His head hurt.

His stomach hurt.

His mouth tasted like something had crawled into it and died during the night.

“You alright Maxy?”

“Advil.”

He heard Ed grumble to himself and then something bounced off his arm. He cracked one eye open to register the pills and then popped two out one-handed, gulping them down dry.

“You’re too young to get hangovers, Max.”

Max frowned and rolled over onto his face, swallowing down the bile that was trying make a dramatic reappearance from it’s initial debut at dinner the previous evening.

“I’m 26. I can _totally_ get hangovers. Also, pretty sure there was a lot of absinthe last night.”

God, he could still taste it, the aniseedy, ethanol burn at the back of his throat. He screwed his eyes up.

“Oh, you remember more than I expected. You were enjoying yourself though, you even took Carl’s magic pills.”

Oh. He didn’t remember _that_. Probably why he felt like he’d been run over now.

“I’ve got to go out, Max, I need to meet someone. You have work this afternoon, right?”

“Yeah.”

He swallowed again, trying to keep his spasming stomach under control.

“Well, don’t sleep too long. You coming out tonight?”

Oh God. Oh God, he wanted to just go and die somewhere, he didn’t want to go out, he didn’t want to see people, he wanted to sit on his own and pretend he was goddamn decent.

But they’d all be out tonight. Ed. Carl. All his friends. The whole damn _scene_ , everyone who mattered. And a party wasn’t a party without him. As the saying went, Max _maximized_ a party.

It was a lame saying and he felt a bit embarrassed by it, but it was true.

“Yeah.”

“Great, see you at Reckless.”

Ed was gone a whole two minutes before Max, completely naked with a hand pressed desperately to his mouth, pelted through the apartment into the bathroom, collapsed onto his knees and then retched into the toilet.

The day was starting excellently.

*****

He had to say it for puking; it did make you feel better.

Max frowned into the stream of water from the shower head as he lathered shampoo into his hair. He opened his mouth, swishing water around and then spitting it out, trying to rid himself of the acrid taste. God, that was gross.

He finished showering and staggered out into the bathroom, still feeling dizzy and tired. He glanced at himself in the cracked mirror as he did so.

Unlike a lot of dominant male omegas, Max hadn’t been surprised when he presented at 14. He’d been attracted to alphas since he was about 11. He’d also been overweight and – according to his schoolmates – overly effeminate. His early High School nicknames had been very inventive; Queerboy, Faggot, Pansy… 3 years of verbal and abuse and bullying. Kids could be cruel, particularly if you were a bit awkward.

Presenting had changed all of that. Actually… in a way, it had made it worse. He hadn’t stayed in High School much longer, but the macho guys who had all spent their time making his life miserable had suddenly started paying attention to him. _Close_ attention. Suddenly him being a Queerboy Faggot Pansy hadn’t necessarily been a bad thing.

Fortunately he’d been sent to a finishing school. His parents had been conservative; a recessive alpha father and a beta mother. They hadn’t liked his presenting; his younger sister was the more _acceptable_ prospect as an omega, not him. But they’d sent him to the finishing school, presumably hoping they’d be able to sell him off as a good match.

His sister had gotten to 16 and been confirmed as a beta, much to Max’s amusement.

Max had _loved_ finishing school. Suddenly he’d been surrounded by omegas and he wasn’t ‘overly effeminate’, wasn’t a freak, wasn’t a weirdo. He was accepted. Loved. Able to express himself and not hide any more. He’d made friends, real friends, a group. They’d all supported one another, been there for each other, helped out.

Graduation had been painful. He’d missed his group intensely, many getting married off. He hadn’t exactly been unpopular; after presenting he’d gone through a growth spurt and his ridiculous metabolism meant he’d lost his baby fat, looking weirdly gaunt compared to his previous appearance. But his parents hadn’t wanted him to be sold to a male alpha.

Max hadn’t understood that. If he’d been beta his parents would have been against his attraction to men, he knew that at a bone-deep level. But he was omega. Everyone expected male omegas to be with male alphas.

Apparently everyone apart from his parents. They eventually found a female alpha to match him with. Max had met her. It had been wrong. Totally wrong.

So he ran away.

Such an emotive phrase really. Like Oliver Twist or whatever. But he hadn’t wanted that. He hadn’t really been thinking, if he was honest. He hadn’t considered that omegas couldn’t rent a property, couldn’t really get a job, couldn’t even be left alone on the street half the time without some “well meaning” alpha offering assistance to return them to their “rightful alpha”.

In a way, he’d fallen on his feet.

In another way he’d completely ruined his life.

He’d fallen in almost immediately with the crew at Reckless. He’d slumped in, dejected and miserable, feeling lost. And a dejected, lost, cute (yeah, he was cute, so what?) dominant omega was absolute catnip for the alphas there. And half the betas. He’d hooked up with one alpha that night and had spent the last few years moving from meaningless relationship to meaningless relationship. Until Ed.

Ed hadn’t been rich, hadn’t been some slightly dodgy businessman or married alpha after some tryst who would put him up in an apartment in the city. He’d been _fun_. He’d been different. And, most importantly, he hadn’t tried to stifle Max or make him behave. Ed was – Max told himself – perfect.

Max was relatively certain that Ed dealt, but he tried to ignore that. It ruined the fantasy for him.

Ed also hadn’t had a problem with Max trying to get a job, so for the first time in several years he’d been employed. He was a barista at a coffee bar. He loved it, loved his colleagues, loved being able to do a normal thing like work.

He frowned into the mirror. He didn’t hugely want to work right now. He wanted to go and lie in a darkened room and try to fish out why he felt a bit guilty. He was trying to remember if he’d slept with someone else last night.

The other unusual thing about Ed was that he didn’t seem to mind if Max fooled around. He claimed that to try to stop Max would be trying to force him to change and he wanted Max to be his authentic self. Ed also thought that omegas tended not to be naturally monogamous.

It still made Max feel sick when he got too drunk or stoned and did something like that. He glanced down at his hands, noticing the fine tremors. Tried to pretend it was fatigue or a hangover, not withdrawal.

The depression was just… just SAD or something. The weird tinge his eyes had sometimes was just something screwy with his pheromones. Years of drug and alcohol abuse were… were fine, he was a party guy, he wasn’t some wrecked old loser, he was young and beautiful and vibrant and popular. And everyone wanted him at the parties. He _made_ the parties. He used his pheromones and charm and empathy to make everyone have a good time, Ed sometimes told him that he’d have been sunk a long time ago if Max hadn’t been around to get everyone high off just… Max. He was needed.

He could stop it any time he wanted. Extricate himself from this life. Right?

He was briefly overwhelmed by an urge to cry and growled to himself.

Showers were a bad idea. Idling was bad. He needed to be active, to move, to constantly burn energy. To be focused on something else and not have time to be introspective. Thinking made him recognize things he didn’t want to admit to.

Sadly, he wasn’t stupid. He just sometimes acted that way to make everyone happy.

*****

Despite the stereotypes, it didn’t always rain in Seattle.

However, it was raining now. Max leant against the bar, fiddling with the strap of his apron and watching the fat raindrops splatter and drool down the outside of the window. The air was heavy with the aroma of roasting coffee. It smelt warm and somehow festive. In stark contrast to his real life, this felt decent.

_Don’t start that again. It’s judgmental and ridiculous, there’s nothing wrong with you. Being non-traditional doesn’t make you indecent or somehow evil._

“Hey, omega!”

Max glanced over at the customer and put on his most charming smile, bounding over.

“Hi! Sorry, I was just watching the rain. What can I get you?”

“Your number?”

Max’s charming grin didn’t falter, didn’t even freeze. He was good at hiding his emotions. He didn’t want this, he wanted something _real_.

“Sorry, that’s not on the menu today but we do have a great Sumatran roast.”

He sometimes wondered if his boss had been unusually lenient by employing him because it had become well known that the café had a dominant omega barista, with the inevitable curiosity this caused and therefore footfall. It sometimes felt like a petting zoo with beverages. The alpha was unperturbed, taking his coffee and wandering off.

“Ugh. Creeper.”

“You can say that again.”

Lily huffed her bangs – dyed blue today – out of her eyes and gave him a sideways glance. “Don’t you get sick of that?”

“Obviously.”

“Well, why do you always act like you’re delighted by the attention?”

“You’re a beta, you don’t understand. We need to balance it, if we’re too pleasant we’ll get in trouble but if we tell them to get lost we’re in danger of being attacked.”

“Er… dickhead? I’m a _woman_ , I know you get that shit and get told you’re an omega all the time, but you seem to be forgetting my primary gender.”

He flushed. “Sorry…”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop it. What are you doing tonight?”

“You know me. Party party party.”

She frowned at him. “Yeah, you sound _so_ in the mood. You alright?”

“I’m fine.”

Was he though? Why did he feel like this? So weirdly dissatisfied?

“Hi, can I have an espresso please?”

He wasn’t really looking at the customer, focused on trying to stop his damn hands shaking again. He heard Lily bustling around and glanced over.

The alpha at the counter was the most beautiful man Max had ever seen. He felt his mouth go dry and his stomach clench. He managed to stop himself from releasing mating pheromones and wondered what the hell was wrong with him. The guy wasn’t… wasn’t anything special that he could see. In fact, Max wasn’t even sure why the guy seemed so appealing. He was tall and blond, sure, and he had striking blue eyes. But he was older – probably in his 30s – and looked tired. His hair was slightly unkempt, faint lines around his eyes making him look older than he likely was. And he was wearing a suit and a raincoat. He looked… traditional. All the things Max claimed he hated. Ed didn’t even own a suit, he spent his life in various T shirts.

So why were his hands shaking (more than the usual) and why was he suddenly staring at the man like he was a mesmerizing art exhibit? The man caught his gaze and Max tried to smile, realizing that for the first time in his life it likely looked forced.

_Great. Way for my charm to fail me now. Ask for my number, ask for it, please, go on, ask for it._

Lily handed him the espresso and the alpha paid her and went to sit down, barely looking at Max any more. And suddenly – horribly – Max felt affronted. The guy wasn’t interested. What the _fuck_ , the guy wasn’t interested.

Could he tell? Could he somehow see that he was all wrong? Did he know the awful things Max did sometimes, when he’d been plied with drink and drugs and later woke up entwined with too many limbs for just one person? Did he immediately, automatically know that he was so much better than Max? Did he feel it, bone-deep?

It didn’t matter, anyway. He had Ed. He didn’t want anyone else.

He watched the man sit down, his shirt stretching taut across his shoulders. He was well built, slim but muscular. He was putting on a pair of reading glasses and apparently doing a crossword.

Max suddenly hated the stupid, beautiful man who dared to reject him without Max even trying to approach him.

“I’m going home.”

Lily gave him a confused glance. “What?”

“I’m going home.”

“Your shift doesn’t end for another-“

“Fuck my shift.”

*****

He tried not to drink that evening, didn’t take anything. But Ed kept saying he was killing the buzz and everyone wanted fun Max, not boring sober Max.

But when he murmured in his ear that the new guy had told him that he thought Max was sexy and he should go see what happened, Max shook his head and went home.

*****

Max was very gently reprimanded for walking out halfway through his shift the following day. Max assumed it was too awkward to fire him, since half the customers came to stare weirdly at him.

 _One_ of them didn’t though. If he was even coming in today. Max had been looking around hopefully for him all day, without any sign. It was starting to feel pathetic.

“What’s wrong with you? Why did you walk out yesterday? And why do you look like you’re worried you’re about to get arrested for something?”

Max shook his head. “Sorry. I was… not having a good day. And I just wondered if someone was coming in today…”

“That blond guy, right?” At Max’s horrified expression Lily smirked. “You’re pretty obvious, dude.”

“ _What?_ ”

Lily frowned. “Why him? Like… he’s cute, but I don’t see what’s so special. A lot of the other guys who hit on you are cuter.” She then grinned. “It’s because he ignored you, isn’t it?”

“No. Of course not.” _Yes_.

“You’re sick of people fawning over you.”

_Yes, it’s not real. I want someone who sees me and still wants me. Not some mirage._

“Don’t be stupid. He was pretty hot, nothing special. I have Ed.”

“Yeah…” Lily’s expression clouded over. “I… look, sorry to speak out of turn, but I don’t like Ed. He’s weird. When I go out sometimes he seems to be… I dunno, man, doing something odd with you. Last night he kept trying to get you with that other guy. I’m totally supportive of you doing what you want, but you clearly weren’t interested. And you said you wouldn’t take anything at the beginning of the night.”

“I didn’t.”

“You were _wasted_ , you took something.”

Ah. Probably why he didn’t remember Lily being there, she sometimes came along but he had no memories of her from the night before. She frowned.

“Come over to mine tonight, watch a movie. My roommate just moved out, I’m kinda lonesome.”

“I… I think something’s on tonight…”

He hid the tremor in his hands in his pockets and gave her his patented grin. “And you know that Max-“

“Yeah, yeah, Max maximizes a party. Go maximize the cleanliness of the trash and take it out.”

He stared at her appealingly and she pulled a face at him. “Don’t try that. I’m not alpha and your shimmering eyes don’t steal my soul. I had to do the afternoon shift single-handed yesterday. Go take out the trash, you flaky bastard.”

The trash had – of course – leaked all over the wooden holder and so he was on his hands and knees scrubbing the sticky residue off. Some asshole trod on his hand.

“ _Ow_ , mother _fucker_!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

And, of course, it was the blond guy. Max walked out again.

*****

That evening he took the damn pills after Ed kept suggesting they’d relax him. The night was a blur of color and music and noise that roared together into a kaleidoscope, a carousel, a shimmering, shining, hysterical mess. Max vaguely recalled having a sobbing, screaming argument with what turned out to be a bar stool. Ed took him home.

Max thought they made love, but he wasn’t sure. He saw bright, neon lights scrawled across his vision, even when his eyes were closed.

He hoped it was Ed on top of him.

*****

He was more severely reprimanded. He stared at his feet and felt guilty. About everything.

Lily gave him a sympathetic look. “What’s wrong?”

Max considered it the question. He didn’t really know. He just hated it all. And saw no way out. He wondered if that was why he was fixating on the alpha. An escape route.

Was he really that shallow? Moving from person to person, using people? Max was relatively sure that wasn’t what he was really like. Deep down… he wasn’t a manipulative, using slut. Right?

 _No. You’re doing what you need to. You’re surviving. You tell yourself it’s your choice and how much fun you’re having. You agree with all the lies and shit Ed tells you. You thinking_ you’re _manipulating_ him? _You never had multiple partners before him and he’s the one who always points them out to you. He’s not your boyfriend. He’s your pimp._

_You’re a fucking whore._

“I’m sorry.”

He jumped and looked up. Blond alpha had apparently materialized in front of him and was not quite looking him in the eye.

“I’m sorry. About your hand.”

Max stared at him. It was the first time he’d ever actually spoken to him. Uncharacteristically, he couldn’t think of anything to say.

 _Say something. Say something. You’re_ Max _, dammit, you always come up with a funny joke or a quirky comment. You don’t stand awkwardly staring at him, say something._

“Uh. Um. That’s… that’s okay. I… I’m kinda small, I guess it’s… quite easy to step on me?”

_What. The. Actual. Fuck. Was. That?_

The blond alpha apparently was thinking the same, meeting his gaze and briefly looking utterly confused. Max felt himself blushing.

“Look… look, can I buy you a coffee or something as an apology?”

“I’m on shift-“

“ _Of course_ you can. I’ll cover for Max.” Lily beamed. Max glared. Blond alpha looked confused.

Max left.

*****

“Ed, I think I’m breaking.”

“Don’t be silly, have a drink.”

“I mean it, Ed. I think there’s _really_ something wrong.”

“Shut up and drink it.”

*****

Shattered memories, dripping through his consciousness. A myriad of fractured glass, reflecting, refracting. Spinning away.

Music on loop, on repeat, over and over, a record, the needle digging in and scratching, scratching, _scratching_ out a tortured melody.

*****

Max forced his eyes open. Ignored the alphas sprawled in the bed, dragged himself upright, not allowing himself to feel the ache of what he knew had happened last night. He tracked Ed down, asleep on the sofa.

“What am I?”

Ed opened his eyes blearily and looked at him. “Huh?”

“I’m not your boyfriend, am I?”

Ed blinked. “We’re… look, all that shit’s not us, Maxy. We know monogamy doesn’t mean-“

“I’m not, am I?” Max sneered. “You’re not even brave enough to say it. Well… fine, I’ll say it. You don’t love me. I don’t want this. I’m going. I tried to stop it and you didn’t let me, so I’m leaving. Goodbye, Ed.”

“Wait, what? Maxy, without you I’m ruined-“

“Yeah. And not in the way you mean, either.”

Max left.

*****

The record shattered, fractals of inky grooved shards exploding. No more repeats. No more echoes.

*****

“I’m relatively sure you’re fired, Max.”

“Probably… look, I’ve left him.”

Lily blinked, confused. “Did something happen?”

“Not… not really. I guess I just… figured it out…”

Lily sighed. “Do you want your job back? I swear, if you walk about again-“

Max grinned at his boss and she sighed. “Fine. You know, sometimes I wish I actually was just your coworker, not your sister who’s horribly worried about you. Move into the apartment, you idiot.”

*****

It wasn’t that he was pretty. Tony Meyer had seen plenty of pretty omegas and they hadn’t made him feel like he’d been kicked in the stomach.

It hadn’t been his scent either – that had been lovely, a beautiful, fresh, zesty smell of limes. His scent had put him off, actually, he’d smelt of sadness and anxiety and a weird dissatisfaction. An entrancing overlay with a dark, insipid underlay.

Tony had studied art history – before he’d ended up somehow as an investment banker and doing very well – and there’d been a quality to his eyes that had reminded him of Baroque art. Saint Sebastian, arrows through him and still somehow noble and strong and sensual.

He couldn’t bring himself to look into his face, every time he did he saw a beautiful martyr. He couldn’t; bear it. It hurt to meet his gaze.

He was in pain and Tony was terrified that he could maybe be transfixed by that. What did that make him? He didn’t _want_ him to be in pain, he wanted to help. It was overpowering to want to help and how the hell did he deal with that? He didn’t even know the man, was basing his entire assessment of him on a feeling.

Tony was truly frightened he’d fallen in love with an anguished gaze. That would have been fine for him ten years ago, but _now_? He wasn’t an art historian any more and it made him feel like a creep. Artists can rhapsodize about the beauty of a tortured boy (and really, _boy_? The guy was in his twenties, what sort of weirdo would call him a boy?), but not… not 35 year old bankers. He was having a mid-life crisis because of some annoyingly attractive barista.

A very grumpy barista, Tony noted with amusement, watching the guy flounce out. The girl with the blue hair looked exasperated.

“I’m sorry about my brother.”

“Oh, please don’t apologize.”

“He’s… he’s going through something right now. I’m honestly not sure _what_. I want to help, but I know if I try to take over he’ll just run. He did that to our parents. He needs to make mistakes but…”

She sighed. Tony shrugged. “That’s the curse of a younger sibling, I guess?”

“Hah. I’m younger, not that you’d know it.”

Oh, good. He definitely wasn’t a boy then, at least in his mid twenties. Tony guessed that omegas likely looked younger than they were and he hoped he was therefore slightly less of a creep.

“He’s… well, oh… I don’t know. You were doing a crossword, do you have a clue you’re stuck on?”

He smiled at the blue-haired girl. He’d only had the crossword out so he didn’t stare at the barista.

“No, I finished it. But thank you.”

*****

He actually _trod_ on him. He trod on Saint Sebastian. On the beautiful work of art.

The beautiful work of art called him a motherfucker.

Tony was relatively sure that Guido Reni wouldn’t have expected his masterpiece to call an inoffensive banker a motherfucker.

Tony was entranced. Tony was in love.

*****

After he offered to buy him a coffee in apology (and got run out on again), Tony didn’t see the strangely beguiling barista for a while. He went to the coffee shop each day. The blue-haired girl eventually told him that her brother was 'in a program' and she was helping him. She gave him a tired look.

“I’m… I’m sorry. That’s not my place to tell you, really. He… has some problems. Oh God, I shouldn’t-“

She looked like she was about to cry and Tony couldn’t deal with another anguished oil painting. “Please, don’t worry about it. You’re concerned, I can see that.”

“I feel like everyone takes advantage of him and how am I supposed to protect him?”

Tony considered this.

Tony realized he was just like the rest.

Tony asked Lily if she’d give him Max’s number and stopped categorizing both as tragic art history figures.

*****

Max eyed the blond alpha with concern. He was sat on a bench in a park (away from _temptations_ , he wasn’t allowed to go to bars, even if he thought he could just have lemonade). Years later Max would successfully be able to go to bars to have 'drinks' with friends and not drink alcohol, but he wasn't at that stage yet.

Max sat down. The blond alpha looked at him.

“I have a very strange confession to make.”

Max stared at him, confused. Then, to his horror, he blurted out: “Are you the one who keeps calling me at night and breathing heavily? I can hear you fapping, you know.”

The blond alpha blinked and Max felt himself blush. Well… well, shit.

“No… no, I don’t do that.”

“Uh. Good." He paused, then lied: "No one does.”

“Can you let me make my embarrassing confession now, you strange little creature?”

“Sorry…”

“This is going to sound weird – actually, scratch that, it’s not as weird as _that_. When I first saw you I was struck by how similar you were to Saint Sebastian.”

Max frowned. “Huh?”

Tony frowned. “You know… it’s a piece of art.”

“Oh. Am… am I supposed to know what that means?”

“Well… look, Saint Sebastian is a martyr. A tortured soul.”

“Yeah?”

“And… and you reminded me of him.”

“Why is that bad?”

His eyes were different. Tony gazed into them and felt himself undoing more deeply than that first glance in the café. Not because he was in pain, but because he _wasn’t_. He looked healthier. More alive. Less like a painting and more like an astounding, living, breathing man.

“Well… I was scared. You seemed in pain.”

“I was.”

“And… well, I thought that was sick. You know? That I could find that so… entrancing.”

“ _Entrancing_? You ignored me!”

He sounded outraged and Tony smirked. “You’re not used to that, are you?”

“ _No_.”

“Well, that’s my confession. I’m sorry. I objectified you as soon as I saw you. I saw pain and put some sort of artistic filter onto it.”

Max frowned at his feet. “There’s nothing romantic about pain.”

“I know. I do, I’m not some moron, really. I’m not sure what came over me. I’m usually quite sensible.”

“I’m not.”

“… Really?”

“Yeah, you can’t act well, can you? Oh… well, I guess I owe you an apology too.”

Tony looked at Max, confused. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Well… I saw you and I think I saw an escape route.”

“An escape route?”

“Look… look, I’m not proud of this. I’ve been doing a lot of therapy and things and it makes you address your behavior. I use people.”

“I’m sure you don’t-“

“Oh, _please_. You can talk all you want about art and shit like that and I’ll nod and act like I know and care. I don’t. The only art I know is that picture with the guy with the melty face.”

“Shrik?”

“Is that The Scream?”

“Yes, it was originally by a Norwegian artist and so-“

“Oh, I don’t care. Melty face dude is the only art I know. But I can act like I’m _fascinated_ by what you’re saying when I really have no clue. And don’t really care.”

“I don’t really understand what you’re apologizing about.”

“I met you when I needed an escape. I used alphas as an escape. I… I use alphas.”

Max glowered at his feet, scuffing at the gravel under the bench they were sharing. “It’s wrong. I know it’s wrong, but we’re all told we have to rely on you guys, you know? I didn’t want to, so I used alphas. I’m sorry. I objectified you as much as you did me. You don’t have a confession. We both just had some weird feeling about one another and both were as false as the other. I’m not some beautiful martyr and you’re not some rich, sexy alpha who’ll help me out. I’m… I’m kinda _glad_ I didn’t just go for you, if I’m honest. It’d be the same pattern. I broke out of that. I… I guess I want to thank you…”

Max suddenly looked into Tony’s eyes. The broken martyr was forever exorcised. Tony saw a vibrant, intellectually curious, clever, hazel-eyed phoenix.

If he was entranced before then now he was utterly bewitched.

“What’s your name?”

“What?”

“Your name, jackass. You’re just ‘hot blond alpha’ in my cell, what are you _called_?”

“Tony.”

“Oh. Cool. I guess you’re some sort of art professor or something, right?”

Tony was about to interrupt him, but Max had started talking and – as all of his friends would point out – once that started then there was no stopping him. “That’s a shame, but I guess that’s good. Artists live in poverty and I can _totally_ rock poverty. Not that I want you to give me anything. I’m living with my sister and I’m sorry, but if you want to have drunken art parties I can’t do _that_ -“

“I don’t want to do that.”

Max frowned. “No? I thought artists all-“

“I’m not an artist.”

“Oh. I thought you were an-“

“If you’d just _shut up_ then I can tell you what I do.”

“Did you just tell me to shut up?”

“Yes.”

“… Well, I’m offended…”

“How am I supposed to tell, you histrionic little-“

“ _Histrionic_?”

“Yes. Are you denying it?”

“… no…”

“I thought not. I’m a banker.”

“Ugh.”

“Well, I’m sorry.”

“Oh. Well, if we’re being honest… I’m an alcoholic.”

“I kind of got that.”

“And… and you still want…?”

“I want to spend more time with you. Not with me viewing you as a tortured Baroque piece of art and you not – apparently – viewing me as some sexual escape route.”

“I’ve drunk a lot.”

“I appreciate that.”

“And taken a lot of stuff.”

“Yes, I realize.”

“And fucked a lot of-“

“Yes, I know.”

“I’m clean.”

“That’s-“

“Like, I’ve had tests. They put me on antibiotics initially, so I think maybe Ed was-“

“Yes, I know. I get it. _Really_.”

“And you… still want to… spend time with me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Tony stared at Max, lost for words. Eventually he just admitted the truth:

“Because you’re you.”

*****

Their first official date was to an art gallery. Max was – genuinely – fascinated. Particularly when Tony showed him ‘The Martyrdom of Saint Sebastian’. Max stared at it.

“I reminded you of this?”

“Intensely.”

“… He’s hot.”

“Well, obviously.”

Max took a photo on his cell and Tony gave him a slightly indulgent glance. “What are you doing?”

“I figured I’d start a blog.”

“What about?”

“Well… us, I guess. I want other omegas to know they don’t have to do what I-“

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“That shit. You did what you did. Stop beating yourself up.”

“You don’t normally swear Anthony.”

“Yes, well, I do when you do that. I don’t care about all that. It made you into _you_.”

“Is that really a good thing?”

“You know I think it is, stop fishing for compliments. I’m getting champagne, do you want some?”

“No, sparkling water please.”

Tony’s face crumpled and Max felt a corresponding twinge of pain. He stamped down on the weird symmetry and smiled at the alpha he was already in love with. “Don’t worry about it. Perrier please.”

As Tony sloped off, Max took a selfie in front of Saint Sebastian and uploaded it as his first blog post:

 _Totes San Sebastian _ _#_ _youwishitwasafilterbitches_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rather like that this one has no real 'bad guy'; Max admits that the majority of his problems are caused by him and just exacerbated by others - which is down to the society he is in, but I like that this one shows that sometimes things aren't all that black and white.
> 
> Also, this one is oddly light hearted. And Lily and Karen are absolute beta QUEENS and no one should mess with them. I rather liked the twist at the end that Lily's his beta sister he refers to :) Also, I love Max. He definitely should have got more 'air time' in MUT.


	7. Amber's Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence, character death
> 
> I'm afraid you all know where this one's going.

My Fellow Omegas

**Amber’s Story**

**By RumCove**

Disclaimer: These chapters relate to OCs that I wrote for my Scrubs fanfiction, My Unorthodox Treatment. All OCs belong to me, whilst any occasional Scrubs characters belong to Bill Lawrence and NBC/ABC/Doozer Productions etc.

  
“Run” by Snow Patrol:

_I'll sing it one last time for you_  
_Then we really have to go_  
_You've been the only thing that's right_  
_In all I've done_

_And I can barely look at you_  
_But every single time I do_  
_I know we'll make it anywhere_  
_Away from here_

_Light up, Light up_  
_As if you have a choice_  
_Even if you cannot hear my voice_  
_I'll be right beside you dear_

_Louder, louder_  
_And we'll run for our lives_  
_I can hardly speak I understand_  
_Why you can't raise your voice to say_

_To think I might not see those eyes_  
_It makes it so hard not to cry_  
_And as we say our long goodbyes_  
_I nearly do_

_Light up, light up_  
_As if you have a choice_  
_Even if you cannot hear my voice_  
_I'll be right beside you dear_

_Louder, louder_  
_And we'll run for our lives_  
_I can hardly speak I understand_  
_Why you can't raise your voice…_

*Five hours before the beginning of “My Unorthodox Treatment”*

Amber FitzAlan woke up with a soft groan, feeling her sister wriggle against her in the bed. Io had been stressed the previous night, anxious nerves combining with old-fashioned overwork. Amber and Iolite had pretty much always slept in the same bed and being adults didn’t really change that they were most comfortable that way. And it meant Amber could help Io regulate, which she had needed the previous night. Io was having bad dreams again, something she didn’t like to talk about but Amber knew it was linked to the incident with Mica and whatever else it was about that Io refused to talk about. Amber knew people found it weird, the two of them sleeping together.

Despite what people seemed to think, Amber didn’t really care what people thought. She just didn’t tell them to their face, the way Io did.

She sat up in bed and stroked Io’s short hair, scratching her manicured fingernails gently through the nearly shorn undercut. She glanced over at her current project mounted on the mannequin by the wall.

Amber had her own passions. Mica was focused on business. Alex lived for the vineyard. Io was determined to be a lawyer and furiously vlogged on omega rights. And Amber loved fashion.

It was – of course – traditionally omega. So everyone approved of it, but was oddly indulgent of it. Like it didn’t matter. And Amber knew it didn’t matter in a way; she wasn’t going to achieve world peace or equal rights or cure disease. But she loved beautiful things and creating beautiful things. To her the swirl of textile and fabric was art. It annoyed her that people seemed to think it was somehow lesser just because it wasn’t… wasn’t something _alpha_. It was a sort of omega past-time, so it didn’t matter.

Amber didn’t hugely think business or wine mattered either, but both Alex and Mica got credit for being all thrusting and forceful. Io was treated like she was insane, but she had been treated that way her whole life and didn’t care. And people were starting to listen to her.

Amber couldn’t cure cancer or make the world a better place in any large scale way. But she could make beautiful clothes and make people feel better wearing them. That was how she could help. It was annoying that people seemed to find this comical somehow. That it was ‘sweet’.

Io got it. Io would occasionally rant that people only belittled Amber’s design because it was viewed as an omega thing to do. No one belittled Alex and wine was as frivolous as fashion. Generally she would admire Amber’s work and praise it, telling Amber she could never do something so pretty and so detailed. She lacked the patience and the care.

Io meant it, Amber knew. Io didn’t give fake compliments, she didn’t have the social niceties to understand how to do that. As a result, Amber designed almost all of Io’s clothes. She’d created a vast array of suits for her for when she graduated and was practicing law; Amber was determined that Iolite would not only be the first omega lawyer, but the best dressed lawyer as well. All had little twists that Amber knew Iolite would love, slightly uneven hems or asymmetrical lapels or crazy lining so Io would still feel like herself. And Amber loved to create outfits for Iolite that showed off her figure; ironically, the same figure that Amber herself had, but would never dare show.

Amber would tell Iolite that she was going to get equal rights for omegas. And Iolite would cheerfully tell Amber that when all the omegas were free they would _all_ want to wear Amber FitzAlan clothes.

Amber’s designs for herself were more conservative. The outfit on the mannequin was a standard ‘Amber for Amber’ design; beautiful material, flowing and hippy-like. Baggy harem pants, layered over with a thigh length tunic and a long scarf, all in shades of rust that highlighted her henna hair.

Amber was feeling… odd. She suspected it was something to do with Io’s burnout the previous night, she’d sat with her holding her hands, instructing her to breathe with her as she carefully released pheromones to reset Io’s wavering control. And Iolite had had more difficulty than usual to keep herself on an even keel, every time she nearly regained control she would have a sudden spike of panic and self-recrimination that Amber was having to help her, resulting in her apologizing profusely and knocking herself back into an unregulated state.

Which was probably why she was still asleep, her usual sleep patterns being brief and light. She was out cold, sprawled in the bed and unusually not reacting to Amber moving around. Amber watched her sleep for a while and checked that she was properly regulated. Reassured that her sister was only releasing her usual scent, she showered and then changed into the outfit from the mannequin, examining herself critically in the full length mirror when she was done.

The hem wasn’t quite right. Amber frowned and glanced over at her sewing machine, considering staying in and fixing it. After a moment of indecision she shrugged to herself and decided against it; it wasn’t like anyone would get the chance to look over her clothes in any detail anyway. She was hardly putting on a runway show, just going to the park to sketch in her design pad and clear her head.

She stroked Iolite’s hair again, gently kissed her sister on the temple and picked up her sketch pad.

Then Amber FitzAlan left her home for the final time.

*****

Marco was driving her. Amber sat in the back of the Jaguar and bit her lip.

Amber was not chatty. She never really knew what to say to Marco and the pressure to be ‘interesting’ or, indeed, interested made her feel stressed. She had put her airpods in at the beginning of the drive and was constantly praying that Marco wouldn’t try to engage her in conversation.

She liked Marco. Of course she did, he’d been around most of her adolescence. She knew she should be able to talk to him, but she always ended up nervously stammering something out that she knew he wouldn’t be interested in. The fact that Marco may actually be interested in things that Amber wanted to talk about never occurred to Amber.

She’d always been awkward around alphas – the fact she could even speak to Marco demonstrated that she did actually feel relatively comfortable with him. This was worsened in a way by Iolite. She was the chatty one – incessantly chatty, as Mica would say. Iolite vomited out whatever was on her mind. Amber would sit and consider things, usually so much so that the conversation had moved on by the time she had plucked up the courage and conviction to say what she wanted. So she said nothing, trying to will her heart to stop racing and her palms to stop sweating at just the _thought_ of people all looking at her and… expecting something from her.

In a positive reading of Amber, she came across as shy and demure. In a negative reading, she came across as aloof and disinterested. Or, even worse, _boring_.

Everyone thought Amber was a stereotypical omega. She hated that, because she actually wasn’t. No, she wasn’t as out there as Iolite, but she wasn’t some 2D cardboard cut out. But everyone seemed to think of her that way, probably due to the contrast with Io.

Amber felt like her entire life had been a case of being compared with Iolite and being found… not _lacking_ , but less interesting. The normal one. The steady one. The proper one.

She didn’t resent Io for it, since Io seemed to be the one person who actually got Amber. And Amber knew that Iolite genuinely thought Amber was _perfect_. Io always found herself lacking in comparison, which Amber had never understood; even when they physically looked exactly the same Io always seemed to think Amber was somehow prettier, somehow purer, somehow _better_.

Sometimes Amber wanted to show them all, get messy, get excessively drunk, do something dangerous. But that was somehow worse, because that wasn’t her either and would just be her doing something to make a point to people. She shouldn’t care about what people thought.

But she did.

She sighed and looked out of the car window, sightlessly staring at the vineyards blurring along.

Her cellphone buzzed and she glanced down at it.

_Iolite: Where are you?_

She quickly typed out a reply: _Just going to the park. Didn’t want to wake you. Go back to sleep._

_Iolite: But I miss youuuuu._

_I’ll be back soon. Let’s get lunch together._

_Iolite: Yes yes yes xxxx_

Amber smiled slightly and put her cellphone back in her designer purse, checking that the cover that she had fitted onto the cell for the day matched her bag. Amber’s accessories were usually commented on, her wallet, purse and cellphone cover all coordinating with her shoes and outfits. Amber never really understood the need to comment, the same as she wouldn’t comment on someone wearing matching socks. It was just what you did. Why wouldn’t you?

She felt an old stab of self-recrimination and misery at how much she’d been thinking about her sister. How much she was thinking of _herself_ in contrast with her sister, like without Iolite there was no Amber. It was pathetic. Her constant comparison to and focus on her was pathetic. Her frustration and annoyance bubbled up and she forced down the sudden, tearful feeling that threatened to overwhelm her.

If Amber had been focused more on herself then she could potentially have picked up the signs of impending heat, the emotional upheavals, the tired, heavy feeling already stealing over her body. But if Amber had a major failing, then it was never focusing on herself. Iolite was the one to unexpectedly go into heat, not Amber. Iolite didn’t smell at all of an approaching heat and so Amber timed herself off that. Even the possibility of it didn’t occur to her.

*****

Amber had sketched four designs, sat on the park bench. She stopped and frowned. She felt… flushed. She closed her eyes and leant her face into the cool spring breeze that was drifting through the grasses and floating the blossoms on swells of light airy currents. The large, heavy design pad was sliding half off of her legs, catching slightly on the soft swirl of material of her harem pants.

She slitted her eyes open and watched the group of college students across from her. They were playing Frisbee, a large group of alphas diving into the grass and running into one another, many of them glancing across at her and showing off for the omega sat disinterestedly on the bench,

Amber disliked being looked at too much. She wasn’t without vanity and a brief admiring glance would tend to make her preen and blush. But the _staring_ … well, it bothered her. The alphas in the playing field weren’t quite staring, but she knew they were all aware of her. They were trying to… to display, as much as an alpha could display. She was very visibly not interested and she wished they just… wouldn’t.

She shyly glanced across at what she thought was likely the captain, a large dominant alpha, over six feet tall and heavily built, curly chestnut hair restrained with a beanie. He was heavily muscled, an unseasonable tan on him and-

A stab of arousal smoked through her, low in her belly. Amber squeaked softly in surprise.

Amber was generally only attracted to alphas, but even then only when she was – when she was –

Amber made a noise of horror and jerked up from the bench, hurrying away, realizing was a sudden spasm of fear that her legs were wobbly, the heat already starting to crawl up her inner thighs. Warmth and a sudden moistness confirmed what she was already aware of and she bit back the urge to panic, trying to silence the thoughts swarming through her mind of _how is this happening_ , _this shouldn’t be happening_ , _how did I not realize this was coming_ , _I can’t go into heat in public, I **can’t**_ , _I’ll be blamed_ , _I’ll be hurt_ , _I’ll be_ -

A large hand landed on her shoulder and she nearly collapsed onto her knees, her shaking legs not being able to take it. She turned fear-drenched eyes to see the alpha she had been watching. He was holding her sketch pad.

“Hey, you left this on the bench, you – are you alright?”

She widened her eyes at him and then shook her head. She saw when he understood, when he inhaled closer to her and his pupils almost immediately dilated. He glanced back towards the other alphas on the playing field.

“Shit, they’re all riled up from playing sports, you can’t let them smell you.”

“They’re riled up from playing _Frisbee_?”

Amber couldn’t help the sarcasm entering into her shaking voice. The alpha smiled slightly.

“ _Ultimate_ Frisbee. And it’s anything competitive, they could probably get riled up from a spelling bee, it’s the urge to beat one another.”

Amber felt a mirroring smile on her lips and a spike of… something else. He was very dominant, he was attractive and he was being kind. He could actually control himself, even though she was already in heat – not even preheat. Amber hated alphas who couldn’t control themselves. It was bad enough omegas ended up in that state.

It was all so _messy_.

“I… I should get going, this shouldn’t be happening, I wouldn’t be outside if I was supposed to be in heat.”

“I get that. Shall I walk you back?”

Oh, he was kind and he was _chivalrous_. Amber had never felt such an immediate attraction to an alpha, even those she had spent heats with.

_We met in a playing field when I unexpectedly went into heat. He escorted me back to my car and gave me his number. After my heat we met up again and-_

It wasn’t exactly a meet cute, but it was sort of romantic. He was _saving_ her. Amber had always enjoyed a princess story as a child, a damsel being rescued by a knight. Or an omega by an alpha when she got a bit older and the fairy stories evolved into the romantic propaganda permeating society. Or that had been what Io had called it anyway, stone-facedly saying that she wouldn’t be _saved_ by some stupid knight, she’d slay the dragon herself. Or marry the dragon instead.

Either way, Amber’s attraction and gratitude resulted in her smiling at the alpha and accidentally gently releasing a small amount of mating pheromones. This would have been fine, if the slight breeze hadn’t blown the mating and heat pheromones over to the team still playing and competing with one another.

Amber saw when they picked up on her, saw when the pheromones went straight to their alpha reactions, bypassing their higher brain functions. She saw when the humanity dropped off their faces and they became mindless, snarling animals. A cold, hard lump of dread formed in her stomach and she crouched slightly, an automatic reaction to try to shield herself using the alpha in front of her.

The Frisbee captain – who was called Martin and was as taken with the small, delicate red-headed girl in floaty clothes as she was with him – noticed her response and looked over his shoulder.

“Oh fuck,” he breathed. He turned back and shoved her roughly to get her moving and out of her protective stance. “Run, I’ll try to slow them down, _run_.”

Amber nodded, turned on her heel and started sprinting back towards the car. Martin watched her zig-zag away in the strange omega defensive run and turned back in time to engage with the fastest, throwing his shoulder into the alpha’s chest, winding him. He spun and hit the next with Amber’s sketch pad, the backing splintering on contact. Testosterone was surging through him and he barely felt it when his shoulder dislocated as he tackled a third, nor when a foot sharply connected with his forehead as he rolled on the ground, trying to pin down one of the team. He blinked blood out of his eyes and looked back to see Amber had covered a lot of ground, but that the other alphas were closing in on her. With a stab of real horror he saw that she wasn’t going to make it and tried to haul himself to his feet.

He collapsed back to his knees and tried not to yell when one of his team mates, furious at being slowed down, bit him in his dislocated shoulder.

“ _Marco!_ ” Amber screamed, hearing footsteps close behind her, feet racing and the smell of domination and mating pheromones in the air. She tried to ignore them and not succumb to the omega urge to drop and present, but they were clouding her mind and slowing her down, making her clumsy and uncoordinated.

A hand caught her hair and Amber shrieked for Marco again. She tried to yank herself away, feeling her hair tearing at the roots as she fought to free herself. Another hand closed on a trailing piece of material and she felt the fine gauzy fabric rent and split. She screamed and snarled, fury and fear mingling through her. She tried to twist out of the hands that were now all over her.

Amber was terrified and frightened, but she was _not_ about to suffer the indignity of being mated on a field.

A second later she realized that being mated on a field was not the worst case scenario, screaming again as her arm was wrenched at an unnatural angle. She felt the bone snap and howled.

Marco was already running out of the car, starting to charge, as Amber’s arm was broken. He let out a bellow of rage, his alpha sensibilities of his adopted omega charge being in trouble causing a jolt of real fear in him.

Amber struggled weakly, the pain throbbing through her arm as she tried to free herself. She narrowed her eyes at the nearest alpha and growled.

The nearest alpha set out snarl of fury as the alpha that had bitten Martin charged into the group. Amber let out a yowl of pain as her arm was wrenched again. The alpha, already hyped up from biting Martin, focused entirely on Amber, blood-lust crawling through him. Amber stared back, eyes wide and suddenly knowing – knowing in a soul-deep, bone-deep certainty – that she was looking at her death.

His fangs sank into her carotid artery just as Marco reached them. He grabbed her hand and she squeezed back with all of her strength, the pain, the wrenching disappointment and the loss communicated in the only way she could.

Everything went dark for a while.

Amber opened her eyes to a hospital room. Frenetic beeping was coming from somewhere to her left. Pain was writ large through her nervous system, screaming through it. Two women were doing something, hands pressed against her skin and her wrecked clothing, their light and dark heads bent over her. And a man was looking down at her, looking scared but determined, his nearly black hair contrasting sharply with how pale he was looking.

 _He’s an omega_ , Amber thought to herself, the jerk of realization sharp, even amidst the razor-like pain in her body. _His eyes are wrong, but he’s an omega_.

“Oh my God, it’s a pure one…” was whined out from somewhere nearby. Amber saw a look of worry and then anger flicker over the face of the man looking down at her before he looked back over his shoulder.

“Get out,” he snapped and Amber noted the slight undercurrent to it, the snarling threat of a protective omega. He looked back at her and the aggression immediately dropped off his face as he smiled at her softly.

“I need to take the scarf off to see what’s happening under there, alright?”

Amber wanted to scream at him that everything _hurt_ , that she was so scared, so frightened and so confused. Why was he there? What had happened to his eyes? But the smile and the closeness of another omega reassured her, made her last few moments surprisingly calm and comforting. She tried to nod and flinched at the bright pain that blossomed up from her neck.

This pain lessened and then went to nothing as he began to unwind the scarf, saying something Amber didn’t understand, something medical. Amber realized he was a doctor, the scrubs should have given it away but she’d been more focused on his face than what he was wearing. Everything was suddenly serene and warm and nothing hurt any more.

 _I see you_ , Amber thought, just as her eyes rolled back and she succumbed to the dragging, crawling sensation trying to pull her away, feeling at peace that there was an omega by her side.

_I’m sorry, Io. I’m so sorry._

Everything went white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always found Amber's death really horrible, likely because I already had the character mapped out when I started writing, even though we don't really see her much. I actually - genuinely - wanted to write her being saved by Martin and them getting married and having babies. That brief flicker of hope somehow made it worse.
> 
> Martin's alive, just injured. And he has an omega sibling, which is why he doesn't react as badly as the other alphas, he's a bit Perry-esque that way.
> 
> Also, 'Run' always makes me cry and seemed appropriate.


	8. The Omegas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings

My Fellow Omegas

**The Omegas**

**By RumCove**

Disclaimer: These chapters relate to OCs that I wrote for my Scrubs fanfiction, My Unorthodox Treatment. All OCs belong to me, whilst any occasional Scrubs characters belong to Bill Lawrence and NBC/ABC/Doozer Productions etc.

“Carry You” by Ruelle, featuring Fleurie:

_I know it hurts_  
_It's hard to breathe sometimes_  
_These nights are long_  
_You've lost the will to fight_  
  
_Is anybody out there?_  
_Can you lead me to the light_  
_Is anybody out there?_  
_Tell me it'll all be alright_  
  
_You are not alone_  
_I've been here the whole time singing you a song_  
_I will carry you, I will carry you_  
  
_I know you can't remember how to shine_  
_Your heart's a bird without the wings to fly_  
  
_Is anybody out there?_  
_Can you take this weight of mine?_  
_Is anybody out there?_  
_Can you lead me to the light?_  
  
_You are not alone_  
_I've been here the whole time singing you a song_  
_I will carry you, I will carry you_  
  
_You are not alone_  
_I've been here the whole time_  
_You are not alone_  
_I've been here the whole time singing you a song_  
_I will carry you, I will carry you_  
_Is anybody out there?_  
_I will carry you, I will carry you_  
_Is anybody out there?_  
  
_I know it hurts_  
_It's hard to breathe sometimes_

Iolite FitzAlan frowned. She was sat at her desk, reading some notes for an upcoming mock trial that she would be working as defence counsel at. She prodded the screen of her laptop and huffed softly to herself.

Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

She pushed her hair out of her eyes, where it seemed to be trying to wilt into it and shook her head slightly. She ran her fingers through the back of her hair, trying to settle herself, pressing her short fingernails into her scalp. The feeling stayed with her, sat at the back of her brain, gnawing away.

After another five minutes of staring at her notes and feeling deeply unsettled, Io went and got a root beer from Kingfisher’s kitchen and returned to her bedroom, glancing at Amber’s stripped mannequin as she walked by it. She checked her cell. Amber had last been online 30 minutes ago.

 _When are you coming back? You said lunch and I’m hungryyyy_ _☹_

She knocked back a swig of root beer and then burped quietly as the carbonated liquid fizzled at the back of her throat. She glared at the laptop screen. She had been finding the scenario interesting, been enjoying planning out her courtroom strategy – she could put some _drama_ into this one – but suddenly she was just completely unable to focus on it.

She almost welcomed the knock at the cabin door, distracting her from the weird sense of dread she could feel hovering. She figured it was something to do with being unregulated, something going wrong in her biochemistry to make her horribly anxious for no reason.

She didn’t welcome the interruption quite enough to be pleased to see Mica, but it was a close run thing.

“You need to come up to the house.”

Io frowned. Mica looked pale and drawn.

“What’s up?”

He shook his head. “Come on, just come up.”

“I’ll just finish my-“

“No, Io. Now.”

There was a hint of domination pheromones in the air as Mica said that and Io shivered. Mica apparently realized what he was doing and stopped it, giving her an apologetic look and then gently taking her elbow and propelling her along with him. Io felt unnervingly like she was being arrested and tried to figure out whether there were any ways that her parents could have uncovered one of the schemes she was running.

This feeling was exacerbated when she walked up to the main house and saw Doctor Reyner’s car parked outside. She stumbled and Mica caught her.

“What have they-?”

“Come on.”

Shit. Shit shit shit. Crap.

The entire family – bar Amber, who was still out at whichever park she had gone to – was sat in the living room. This was jarring enough, since they usually hung out together in the snug. The living room was for formal receptions or trying to intimidate business rivals. Or potential suitors.

Reyner was sat in the corner, looking drawn and unwell. Io tried to catch his eye and telepathically shout at him not to say anything, there wasn’t any proof and there was no way he could know for _sure_ that those runaway omegas weren’t actually her cousins or something. His medical bag was next to him and Io frowned at that. Why would he need that?

Also, why was everyone there? Did they all really need to see her getting interrogated? Her mother was looking… weird, glassy-eyed and smelling muted. Her father was sitting down and looking across at her with dead eyes. Alex looked devastated and smelt incredibly anguished. And Mica had that weird control, that weird paleness, that uncharacteristic gentleness with her.

Io wouldn’t have thought anyone would really have been shocked at her for doing it. Surprised, annoyed possibly, but not… not _this_.

Helping other omegas wasn’t a reason to-

“Io…”

Roger FitzAlan sounded hoarse, his red hair spiking up crazily at the back of his head from dragging his hands through it, a trait shared with his youngest daughter.

“What’s up, Dad? It’s… er, I mean I didn’t think anyone would be too horrified that-“

“There’s bad news, Io.”

It was Reyner. Io looked back at him, twisting her hands nervously. Why had he interrupted her from confessing to what they must already know?

“Wh… what bad news?”

“It’s Amber.”

Io blinked. “She’s at the park. She messaged me earlier.”

Mica was still standing next to her, still gently holding her elbow. He caught her chin and tipped her face up towards his with a forefinger.

“She’s passed away, Io.”

Iolite stared back at him, then wrenched her eyes away from his anguished gaze.

 _“Why are you letting him say this?_ ”

She tried to pull away from Mica, but he kept his grasp firmly on her elbow and caught her forearm with his other hand. He was still being uncharacteristically gentle, but there was a firmness to his grip that convinced Io she wouldn’t be able to escape without a lot of effort.

She stared at her family, who were all looking back at her, the same lost, devastated expressions on their faces. Io ignored this, ignored the horrible realization for that feeling before – that half of her soul had just been cruelly taken away, that her constant companion and closest friend was no longer breathing – and became furious.

 _“Why are you letting him say these poisonous things?_ ”

“Io, it’s true.” Alex looked like he was about to throw up. Io glared at him.

“Amber can’t have… have _passed away_. Amber isn’t _dead_. Amber’s not old enough to just _die_.”

“It wasn’t…. she didn’t just die. She was… there was…”

“She was attacked,” Mica said it quietly. Marcie FitzAlan let out a hoarse sob. Iolite focused back on Mica.

“Why would anyone attack Amber? Stop being – stop being _ridiculous_ , Mica. Amber wouldn’t do anything to make anyone attack her, I do that sort of shit, not her.”

“She went into heat.”

Io froze. “No. No, she wouldn’t do. She’s not due to be, she can’t have.”

Mica was softly stroking her hair. “We don’t know, Io. Something must have gone wrong.”

Io snarled at him. “I’m the wrong that’s gone wrong, not her. And we both know why. _Get off me_.”

“No. You need to stay calm and-“

The horrible guilt was already crawling over her, pointing out that if something had gone wrong with Amber then there was only one reasonable explanation why. Io bared her teeth at Mica and tried to wrench away.

_“Get off of me!”_

“Io, calm down.”

Iolite started to scream and flail, the horrible dread and foreboding overtaking her. She took a deep breath and began to howl, calling out desperately for her twin.

For her dead twin.

“Reyner! Reyner, for fuck’s sake, she’s deregulating, she’s going into heat, _Reyner, you need to knock her out before she exacerbates her condition, dammit_.”

Someone was holding her still and she screamed hoarsely, starting to sob. Warmth was crawling over her and anxiety was spiking through her, a thick fug of strong pheromones surrounding her that was causing Mica’s head to spin. He tried to calm her down, even though he knew it was basically impossible for her once she hit a certain point, holding her against him and trying to mutter soothing things to her as she flailed and screamed and hissed. It was like trying to hug a feral cat.

When the hypodermic needle slid into her skin and the cooling numbness began to spread through her it was almost a relief. She slumped against Mica, sobbing into his chest as he held her and whispered to her that she just needed to rest and be calm, that it wasn’t her fault and that he was sorry, that he was so _so_ sorry.

He kissed her forehead as she screwed a hand into his shirt and clung on to him, even as she passed out.

Iolite wasn’t aware of much else for another few days. Then she was just aware of the pain and the loss.

*****

When Amber FItzAlan died – and Iolite FitzAlan was feeling a sense of utter dread, then promptly got knocked out by Reyner before she could deregulate any further – Greg Kennedy was sat in the small bedroom he had been allocated at the omega heat clinic he had been working at for the last four years. He was reading, occasionally looking out at the sea.

Max Warren – now Max Meyer – was lying on a lilo in the pool at their home in Portland, listening to music and ignoring the recessive alpha gardener staring at him and also ignoring the thirst that never quite seemed to quite go away, even with his 3 year AA chip. He was trying to distract himself by planning out his next blog post.

Carla Espinoza was staring at Amber’s lifeless body in horror, tears flowing down her face, the alpha she had finally found who she trusted enough to let close holding her and calming her down.

Paige Murphy was long dead, her brother no longer able to even visit her grave, finding it too painful to keep visiting. Every time he saw it was an acrimonious reminder of his failure to protect her. He hated the world almost as much as he hated himself. He looked at that final text exchange with her most days and recriminated himself again for not acting.

He watched as his colleague staggered away from the gurney the dead girl was lying on. He felt an odd pull to follow him, to check on him, but ignored it, the same way he ignored all of his feelings towards _that_ particular colleague.

The doctor who had tried to save Amber’s life was standing in the corridor outside the ER, trying to choke down the shock, his head spinning, eyes burning. He knew his inhibitors were wearing off, knew he had to get away before anyone saw him. He pressed for the elevator to go up to the roof.

His story was just starting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Carry You" is an absolutely beautiful song, if you like very emotional sad songs (I do).
> 
> JD's song is "Some Kind of Joke" by AWOLNATION, if you were wondering.
> 
> Mica makes up for some of his previous shitty behaviour in this. He's a very complex boy... (and yes, he blames Amber's death on Iolite's deregulation, which he blames himself for).
> 
> Maybe enjoyed is the wrong word, but I hope this wasn't too awful. It's very much a companion piece to MUT and hopefully gives some more context to the characters. I know it's sort of odd that I don't actually mention Perry, JD and Doctor Kelso by name (apart from Perry, but arguably that could be any Perry), but this didn't feel too Scrubsy and so mentioning them felt a bit weird - which is why it's in Original Works with Scrubs characters.
> 
> I also hope the different writing style wasn't too jarring if you like my usual stuff - ironically, this is more how I'd usually write, it just doesn't feel appropriate for Scrubs fiction. Now this is done I can hopefully carry on working on the MUT sequel without feeling guilty about not working on this!
> 
> Also, I'm aiming to put up a sequel to "My Broken Oath" soon, which I'm partially writing to cheer myself up after writing this one.


End file.
